


The House Boy

by HooksLovelySwan (ChainOfPaperClips)



Series: A Swan and Her Boy [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-03-09 10:43:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3246728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChainOfPaperClips/pseuds/HooksLovelySwan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to the Yard Boy. After six months of dating, Emma takes the next step in their relationship and asks Killian to move in with her. Rated M for sexual content. Lengthy one-shot fic with "deleted scenes" to be included later. Mild Princess Bride allusions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bells jingled. Emma Swan looked up from the newspaper she had been trying to read for the past fifteen minutes, her heart skipping a beat. Dr. Hopper shut the door behind him and waved at her with a small smile of recognition before he walked up to the counter. Granny paused in her sweeping and called to Ruby, who retrieved a styrofoam container and handed it to Archie with a smile.

Exhaling with a puff, Emma crumpled the paper up into a large wad. She slid out of the booth and swept it off the table, tossing it into a nearby trash container. She had been fooled exactly three times now, and every time the stupid door chimed, her heart felt as if it would leap out of her throat. She shouldn't be this nervous about meeting her parents. She was an adult.

Of course, she thought, sitting back down, so were her parents. And at approximately the same age as Emma, having been robbed of the chance to raise her due to a curse that transported them to a new land, robbed them of their memories, and froze time, they were understandably overprotective of their daughter now that they had reunited with her and gotten their old memories back.

The bells pealed again, and she looked up. Mary-Margaret walked through the door, removing her gloves with a laugh as she glanced back at her husband. David entered behind her and spotted Emma, tapping his wife on the shoulder. They walked over, their cheeks ruddy from the cold air outside, and hugged Emma in turn before they slid into the booth across from her.

"Hey," Mary-Margaret said with a smile, her eyes aglow, "hope we didn't keep you waiting too long. What's up?"

"Well, uh," she said, flustered because no matter how many times she had rehearsed the words to herself, they had somehow evaporated at the moment of truth. "We should order, I guess."

Her parents shared a knowing look.

"Emma," David began, "we are happy to have lunch with you, but it was obvious from your phone call that you have something important to tell us. Hadn't we better get that out of the way first?"

"No," she answered shortly. She needed the distraction of something to occupy her hands with while she dropped the bomb regarding Killian.

Her parents shared another look.

"All right," Mary-Margaret said in her placating, schoolteacher's tone, "if that's what you want." She folded her arms on the table while David flagged down Ruby to bring them menus. "How have you been?"

"Uh," she swallowed, "I'm fine."

"And Hook?"

Her eyes narrowed. "It's Killian. I've told you."

Her mother inhaled with a frown. "Emma, I know you care for him, but don't you think that it might be...blinding you to certain things about him, his past?"

"Sort of like the way you're blinding yourself to things about Neal's past?" The barb flew out of her mouth before she could stop it. It struck true, and her parents' expressions became shocked. Emma felt a tiny sliver of satisfaction, followed by shame. Sure, her mother was being dense, but Mary-Margaret's experience of true love involved the  _first_  man she had ever loved, period. It was easy to see how she might assume the same might be true of Emma's chance at true love.

Either way, her mother didn't deserve to be spoken to in such a manner.

"Emma," her father began, his expression stern, "that was uncalled for."

"I know," she said as Ruby placed menus in front of them and tactfully made her exit, "I'm sorry." She inhaled deeply, preparing herself for the worst. "But it's really important to me that you call him Killian from now on."

"Are-are you pregnant?" her mother managed, a look of anxiety on her face.

"What?! No! No, I am  _not_  pregnant!"

David exhaled audibly, looking considerably relieved. For all that he remained neutral regarding Emma's relationship with the pirate, she suspected he rather liked Killian; but she doubted such good will would have extended to Killian if the pirate had knocked his daughter up.

"Then-I don't understand," her mother sighed with a saddened look.

"Did he ask for your hand?" her father inquired with an intent gaze.

"No," she managed, biting back a groan at how fast this entire conversation had spiraled out of control. "We're moving in together."

David's face darkened a shade. Apparently Killian living with his unmarried daughter didn't top the list of ways her boyfriend might endear himself to David, either. "So where is he?" David asked. "Shouldn't he be here with you, breaking the news?"

"No," she said, opening the menu as she avoided her parents' gazes, "he's at a job interview. And...I haven't asked him yet." She peered up at her parents, worried. "You-you don't think he'll say no, do you?"

Was six months of dating too soon to ask someone to move in? Should she have waited longer? Emma had never lived with anyone before, except for Neal, and in her opinion that didn't count at all. A life spent in a car or the occasional night at a motel, always moving, always on the run, wasn't commitment. Certainly not the commitment to make a home together. How could it be, when they'd had no home?

"Oh, Emma, I'm sure everything will be fine, if this is what you really want," her mother soothed.

She appreciated the effort, particularly since she knew Mary-Margaret still held out hope that Emma might reconcile with Neal. When Emma had revealed with crystal clarity all the pain Neal had inflicted on her in the past, her parents had both been quite upset. But her mother's forgiving nature idealized the situation as she was wont to do, and it wasn't long before she had started hinting that Emma might give him just one more chance.

Of course, her mother hadn't counted on Emma starting to date Killian last summer. Hell, the entire town of Storybrooke had been shocked, save Ruby, who'd had something of a hand in bringing them together to begin with. Ruby's support (and by extension, Dr. Whale's) had been especially precious at the beginning, when gossip raged and puzzled looks were thrown their way; but it hadn't been long before Archie had expressed his own cautious approval of their relationship, and then, gradually, others came to accept it as well.

Including Neal, whose own romantic attentions had been captured by Regina these days.

Emma didn't understand the match herself, but who was she to judge, based on what she and Killian had been through with each other? If Regina truly wanted to turn over a new leaf for Henry and foreswear use of her dark magic, who better to encourage her toward that goal than Neal?

"What job interview?" David leaned forward, his expression softening with interest. "What about his job with Archie?"

She made a face. "Come on. Can you really see him happy there for the rest of his life? Office work isn't for him. He needs something more..." she avoided the word "sweaty," feeling herself blush at the connotations that word had forever seared into her brain, "...suitable to his skill set," she finished diplomatically. "He only took the job with Archie because I arranged it for him; no one else would take a chance on him at the time, except me-and the town never would have accepted him working in law enforcement with his past so fresh in their minds." She shook her head. "He's interviewing for a job at The Rabbit Hole."

David frowned. "Bartending?" he guessed. "Don't you have to go to school for that, now? This isn't the Enchanted Forest."

She nodded. "That's why he's applying for the position of bouncer. He'll have a job more suited to him while he learns, and eventually he can move up to the position of bartender."  _And then open up his own place_ , she thought with pride, happy that Killian had managed to plot a course for his life in Storybrooke that interested him. But she said nothing of the last part, as it was a goal that was unlikely to happen for many years, and it seemed the sort of thing that he should bring up to her parents himself. Killian had made it his unspoken goal to prove himself worthy of their daughter, and Emma didn't want to spoil the satisfaction of his being able to surprise them with it himself at some future date.

"Well," David said, sliding a glance over toward his wife, "I doubt they'll turn down a bouncer with a hook for a hand." He smiled at Emma. "So it would seem cautious congratulations are in order for both of you."

"So-so you're okay with this?" she asked in confusion. "Me and Killian living together?"

"Absolutely not," he stated with vehemence. "But I'm smart enough to know I can't stop you."

"What about Henry?" Mary-Margaret asked after a moment. "What will he think about all of this?"

"Well, if he hasn't fainted dead away at his dad spending the night at Regina's now and then," she answered wryly, "I wouldn't imagine he would be shocked by my living with Killian."

"He-they," her mother stuttered, "they what? Regina and  _Neal_? When did that happen?"

Emma laughed. "A few weeks ago."

Her mother cast a perturbed glance from Emma to David. "How come no one told me?"

"You know why," Emma sighed. "And it's not our place to tell. Though from the way they've been carrying on around town lately, I would have thought you were aware they're together."

"I haven't been feeling well," her mother murmured. "I haven't left the house much, except for teaching or groceries."

"Well, I'm glad you're doing better now," she told her mother sincerely. "As for Henry, I plan on talking to him about it after I pick him up from school today, don't worry." She smiled crookedly. "He's thirteen, Mary-Margaret. He knows about the birds and bees by now. And Henry seems to like him well enough, if his penchant for stopping by the Jolly Roger after school to visit with Killian is any indication."

"And when do you plan to clue Killian in about all of this?" David asked.

"Tonight," she admitted. "After Henry goes to bed. The three of us are having dinner together again, since it's my week with him."

Mary-Margaret reached across the table and took Emma's hands in her own. "Good luck, Emma," she said, her expression caught between sadness and hope. "We will support you no matter what happens with Killian."

Hearing the use of her boyfriend's name fall from her mother's lips at last made her tear up. Warmth and affection for her parents coursed through her, and she blinked back the moisture in her eyes. "Thank you," she whispered. Then, embarrassed at her own display of emotions, she cleared her throat and pulled the menu closer to her. "I hear the chili is excellent today..."

* * *

Emma picked at her food, glad that she had eaten dessert with her lunch at the diner that afternoon. She had done it mostly to humor her mother, who had so badly wanted to try the new gooseberry pie that Granny had introduced recently, but felt too embarrassed to place the order herself. When pressed on the matter, her mother muttered something about not wanting to be pigeon-holed into her movie counterpart, and Emma had struggled not to laugh. She had ordered the pie for her mother, however, and one for herself, more as a gesture of solidarity than out of any real liking for gooseberry pie.

Now she was grateful that she had eaten the extra bit of food. Her stomach felt queasy, and even the few forkfuls of dinner that she had managed to worry down were doing their best to rebel against their fate. It was ironic, really, as dinner had turned out much better than usual. Emma wasn't a great cook, even on the best of days; she had never really had the time to develop the skill while working long, unpredictable hours as a bailbondsperson, and then always being called to deal with one crisis or another as the sheriff of Storybrooke and general "Savior" of her people. Rescuing Henry from Neverland had changed that, however, and she had begun to make more of an effort-although most of her attempts were mediocre at best. Certainly nothing compared to the gourmet skill Regina regularly displayed these days.

"Something wrong, love?"

She looked up, blinking. "What?"

"You've been quiet all evening."

Henry's gaze slid to hers. His expression was questioning. She shook her head. "No," she directed her answer to both of them, "I'm fine. Who wants more food?"

"Me!" Henry answered with a smile. "This is the best chicken you've made yet, Mom," he encouraged. "You should make it again sometime."

"I'll try, kid," she smiled back, "I'll try." She half-rose to reach across the table for his plate so she could to fill it again, but Killian, who had already put a second piece of chicken on his own plate, placed one on her son's. Emma froze for a moment, struck by the simple familiar domesticity in the scene before her, as the two most important men in her life interacted without a word. Pleased, she sank back into her chair, watching with careful interest as her boyfriend slipped some green beans onto her son's plate as well.

"Hey!" Henry protested, wrinkling his nose at the sight of his least favorite vegetable, excluding spinach. Killian raised an eyebrow, as if challenging him. "Fine," he sighed. "But you better keep your promise."

Emma's ears perked up at this. "What promise?"

"Killian's going to take us sailing some weekend and let me steer the Jolly Roger," Henry said, his face glowing with excitement. "Only-" His face fell. "Only I have to build up my strength, 'cause the wheel is heavy." He tossed a skeptical glance at Killian. "I didn't know this meant you would become a  _vegetable_ -pusher. I thought it meant, like, lots of pushups or something."

"I've not the slightest idea what a 'pushup' is, but I gather it's a form of exercise," the pirate answered, "and you'll need both, if you wish to steer the Jolly Roger someday."

"I hope you're not encouraging him to consider a career in piracy," she told her boyfriend with a wry look.

"Of course not," he said just a shade too innocently. She sensed the truth of his words, and yet her lie-detecting ability whispered that this wasn't the entire truth.

"You're just not  _dis_ couraging it," she guessed with a sigh. The rakish grin that lit his face confirmed her suspicions. "He's thirteen, Killian. Far too young to recruit on a pirate vessel."

"I don't know about that, love," he mused, "the youngest I heard of was a boy of nine or ten. Proved his own potential worth as a pirate by threatening his own moth-" He cleared his throat, halting abruptly as he noted the intense interest on Henry's face. "Ah, but perhaps King's story is one for another time," he amended, casting an apologetic look at Emma. "Not entirely fit for the dinner table."

Henry rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I can just look it up on the internet, you know."

Emma stood up with a sigh. "I'll get dessert ready while you two finish eating."

"Aren't you going to eat more, lass? You've hardly touched your dinner."

"I'm not that hungry tonight," she said truthfully, meeting Henry's knowing gaze. "I had a big lunch at the diner with my parents."

"Um, you know what, Mom?" Henry spoke up, "I'll just take dessert with me to my room tonight. I have a spelling test tomorrow, and ice cream helps me think better."

"A likely story," she retorted, walking to the garbage can with her plate. Scraping the food into the bin, she placed the dirty dishes in the right side of her sink. "But I refuse to take the heat from Mary-Margaret for sending you to school with ice cream dripped all over your homework and textbooks. Eat at the table, kid."

She knew what Henry was trying to do, and on one level it was rather sweet. On the other hand, her son should never have to feel second to Killian, as if he had to sacrifice his time with her in favor of the pirate. There would be plenty of time to ask Killian later.

And she enjoyed the familial feeling it evoked when they ate dinner together. It sparked a hope that one day Killian might become part of their family for real.

After dessert, Emma spent an hour helping her son finish his homework and quizzing him for his test the next day while Killian settled down in the living room to read. When she was finally satisfied that his papers were reasonably legible and that he knew the material that would be on his test the next day, Emma made sure Henry had enough blankets for his bed since it was supposed to be an unusually cold night, and kissed him goodnight.

Shutting the door to his room, Emma walked back to the kitchen and began stacking the dirty dishes together. Hefting them into the sink, she rinsed them with water and resolved to load them into the dishwasher the next morning. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and flung it on the counter, pivoting on her heel as she turned to walk back to the living room where Killian was.

"Oh!" she exclaimed in surprise, bumping into the pirate's chest as she spun around. "I didn't realize you were behind me."

Arms snaked around her waist, and he drew her into a close embrace. "What's on your mind, darling?" he murmured into her ear. "You haven't been yourself all evening. Talk to me."

She smiled to herself, touched at his concern. Emma wasn't used to anyone taking notice of her subtle changes in mood, much less behavior, but Killian always seemed to know. Even as far back as the beanstalk, he had shown an uncanny knack for perception when it came to her thoughts and emotions. She might have known that he would sense something amiss with her.

"Actually, yeah...uh...can we talk?"

He raised an eyebrow, his expression suddenly wary as she led him out to the living room. Settling onto the couch next to him, she placed her hand on top of his maimed arm. Stroking the muscles beneath the sleeve of his forest green hoodie, she noted that his hook was missing from his left arm. It had become commonplace for him to shed the hook in her presence, a fact which pleased her. Given his insecurity about revealing his maimed arm the first time they'd made love, combined with his stubborn and silent persistence in wearing the hook in the presence of other people, it implied a level of trust and comfort in their relationship that she found deeply reassuring.

And if ever she needed that reassurance, it was tonight.

"How did the interview go?" She had been nervous and curious about it all day. It didn't matter to her if he failed to secure the job, but she knew it mattered a great deal to him, though he never said as much out loud.

He eyed her sidelong, his expression skeptical. "I had the impression you wanted to talk about something rather more serious than that."

"I do," she admitted, "but I want to hear about your day first."

But Killian was not about to let the matter drop so easily.

"Emma," he said slowly, "are we...bidding each other farewell?"

"No!" she exclaimed with a shake of her head. "No, no, no!" She drew a deep breath, hesitating for a split second before blurting out, "Killian, I-I want you to move in with me." She stared at her hands, not quite courageous enough to witness his reaction. "Henry is open to the idea. We talked this afternoon."  _He really likes you_ , she thought. But she didn't say the words aloud, unwilling to put that sort of pressure on him.

"Just to be clear," he said after a silence that seemed stretch for eternity, "are you asking me to live with you, Swan? Here, at this house?"

"Yeah," she whispered, "I am."

He lifted her chin with his hand. "Good," he said, kissing her. "I accept." Gathering her into his arms, he embraced Emma with a firmness that surprised her. "I love you, darling," he whispered, stroking her hair.

"I love you, too," she replied, uncertain which stunned her more: his firm acceptance of her invitation, or their mutual declarations of love. For something that they had danced around for six months, those three little words had slipped out easily enough tonight.

Killian kissed her again and pulled away, settling an arm around her. "I'll have to do something about my ship, " he mused. "Perhaps one of my old crew would be interested in buying her."

"What?!" She stared at him. "You can't sell your ship!"

"Well, if I am to be living here, darling, what else am I do with it? I haven't much use for it as a sailing vessel these days, and as we've discussed, becoming a fisherman isn't exactly my style."

"But that doesn't mean you get rid of your ship!" she fought back. "Where else will we sneak away to for a weekend of rum and hot sex when Neal and Regina have Henry? Besides, who says we won't need your ship again the next time we have to chase some insane villain across realms? And you promised to take Henry sailing and let him take the wheel, remember?"

Killian chuckled. "All right, my Swan; as you wish. I won't sell my ship." He smirked. "Though I find it quite telling that your first argument in favor of the Jolly Roger was as a rendezvous for our dalliances. Is that why you've taken to accosting me in my cabin now and then?"

She blushed. "I  _like_  your ship, all right?"

He grinned.

"Both of them," she emphasized in response to the implied innuendo. "We found Henry with her," she said more softly. "How could I not be attached?" She shrugged one shoulder. "And, I don't know...there's something very freeing about being in the open water."

"I knew it."

"What?"

"Pirate," he accused with a pleased expression. "All right," he murmured, nuzzling closer to ply her neck with kisses, "we'll keep the ship, darling. I love you."

"And I love you," she returned again, smiling to herself. "I really do. That's why I want you here with me."

He pulled away. "I will always be with you, Emma." His blue eyes shone with sincerity, and his hand slipped into hers. "So long as you want me."

"I want you," she whispered, pulling him close.  _I want you with me for always._  But the words stuck in her throat, for she was already overcome with emotion at all that had transpired. It was, apparently, a revelation to share with him another night.

_One week later..._

Emma looked up from the bottles of beer that she'd just opened. "So what are you really doing here?" she murmured to her mother as she brushed past her to return the bottle opener to its proper place in the kitchen drawer. "Killian had all of five boxes to move. Three of which were filled with books."

"He had clothing, too," Mary-Margaret said innocently, sprinkling cheese on top of the homemade pizza that she was preparing for their dinner. "Check the oven to see if it's preheated yet," she directed, adding some parmesan cheese to the mozzarella that already topped the pizza.

"Not enough to justify the little moving party you and David decided to put together." Emma glanced at the digital display on her oven. "It's ready."

"Good."Layering more pepperoni on the pizza, she glanced at her daughter. "You know, you didn't have a lot when we helped you move, either."

"Yeah, but I still had more than Killian." Picking up the chilled bottles of beer, she carried them to the living room. There was no sign of Killian or her father, however, so she wandered down the hallway with a frown. A light was on in her bedroom, and the two men were speaking in hushed tones. "Hello?" she called, awkwardly knocking on the partially opened door with her elbow. "Someone want to take these off my hands?"

The conversation stopped, and she spied movement. A moment later, David opened the door all the way. "Thanks," he said, taking the beer from her and passing one to Killian. "Dinner going to be a while?"

"Not too long, I don't think. Mary-Margaret was almost ready to put the pizza in the oven a minute ago."

"So...how long, do you think."

"Uh, twenty minutes, maybe?"

"Good." Her father smiled at her, taking a sip of his beer. "Enough time to unpack another box of books." And he shut the door in her face.

Blinking, Emma stared at the door with a frown. Something about her father's words didn't ring entirely true. And since when did fathers hang out in their daughter's bedroom, helping her boyfriend unpack boxes and settle in to live with said daughter? Shaking her head, she walked back toward the kitchen. This whole situation was so weird. Something was definitely up.

Determined to pry information out of her mother, she waited until her mother had turned away from the hot oven before she pounced.

"So," she said, apparently startling Mary-Margaret, who jumped and clutched at her chest when she saw Emma standing before her with her arms crossed, "what's going on?"

"What do you mean?" Mary-Margaret hedged, opening a cabinet to reach for plates. "We're here to help you and Killian settle in."

"With a guy you don't particularly like, and for a situation David definitely disapproves of?" She snorted. "You're a terrible liar."

"Emma," her mother sighed, placing four plates around the small table at the other end of the kitchen, "I don't  _dislike_  Killian."

"But you haven't exactly been on Team Pirate, have you?" she pointed out while her mother retrieved napkins from the linen closet down the hallway and began folding them.

"I'm on Team Emma," her mother returned, looking up from her handiwork. "Whatever makes you happy is what I want for you. I was mistaken about what I thought would make you happy." She shook her head. "It's funny...twenty eight years apart from you, and I'm still an interfering mom when it comes right down to it," she said with a sardonic smile. "I shouldn't have pushed you toward Neal." She looked up, her expression apologetic. "I'm just trying to make up for it, Emma. That's all."

"So this was your idea, this little get together?"

Her mother shrugged a shoulder. "Mostly. We haven't really had a chance to celebrate Killian's new job, and I think David's been itching to talk to Killian anyway. This just gave him an excuse."

Aha. Now things began to make sense.

"I see." She leaned out of the kitchen and peered down the hallway, wondering if she needed to go interrupt their little conversation again. Killian had always been able to hold his own with her father, offering snarky comebacks to the prince's threats, but they also tended to get him into trouble. The situation was already a little sensitive to begin with, on David's end. If Killian said the wrong thing, the unspoken friendship he had with her father might well go down in flames.

Mary-Margaret began setting the table with flatware, and Emma refrained from pointing out that it was a waste of time. No one but Mary-Margaret would use it to eat the pizza, anyway. But her mother lived for domestic detail, and if she wanted to set the table with flatware and elaborately folded napkins, what did it really hurt to let her?

"Listen..." she began awkwardly, "...thank you."

Her mother smiled. "We're a family, Emma. Families support each other."

The oven timer beeped, announcing that the pizza was ready, and Mary-Margaret pulled on a pair of oven mitts. "Go let your father and Killian know that the pizza is ready," she instructed, taking the pizza out of the oven to cool.

Shaking her head, Emma walked to the back of the house again and saw that the door to her room was still firmly shut. Apparently their little discussion wasn't quite over. Reaching toward the door, she raised her hand to knock, but stopped short at the snatches of conversation coming from the room.

"...not...push it, Dave," Killian was saying. Her father's reply was too garbled to comprehend, but Killian's was slightly clearer, "Now's not the time..." he said, "...not ready...discuss this."

_Yikes_ , she thought, rapping on the door quickly. Time to end that conversation. Mary-Margaret wouldn't be pleased if all the hard work she'd done to prepare dinner and set the table was wasted because everything went to hell between Killian and David. "Dinner's ready," she called through the door, hightailing it back to the kitchen before they could see the guilty look that was sure to linger on her face from eavesdropping just a bit.

Mary-Margaret looked up as she entered the kitchen. "What took you so long?"

"I, ah, had to use the restroom first," she fibbed. "They should be here in a minute."

Pizza had already been cut into slices and dished onto their plates, so Emma fetched some glasses from the cabinet and began pouring iced tea for herself and Mary-Margaret. She'd do her drinking later, with Killian, to celebrate the new step in their relationship. Hopefully as a segue to more interesting things-although she'd never had to entice her boyfriend very hard for that.

The men entered the kitchen a short time later, and Emma scanned their faces with a careful eye for any trace of discord. Dinner would be awkward and unpleasant indeed if her father wasn't on speaking terms with Killian. The men appeared at relative ease, however, and she sighed softly in relief. Whatever differences they'd been having, they appeared to have set them aside for the time being.

She sat down at the table, and Killian slid into a chair next to her, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. Emma blushed, fumbling to unfold her napkin. Killian had never openly shown affection to her in front of her parents before. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw David watching Killian, his expression thoughtful.

Much to Emma's surprise, dinner turned out to be far more enjoyable than she'd imagined. Her mother made a noticeable effort to engage Killian, who responded with caution at first, as if wondering when the other shoe might drop, and then gradually with more enthusiasm. It wasn't that her mother had ignored Killian or been rude during their occasional get-togethers with her parents, but that Mary-Margaret's preference for Neal, and Killian's awareness of it, had hindered the development of any real rapport. Her mother seemed more than determined to make up for past awkwardness, however, and neither David nor Emma contributed more than the occasional comment to the conversation, in an unspoken agreement to let the renewed friendliness between Killian and Mary-Margaret take firmer root.

But if her mother's beaming smile at the end of dinner was any indication, Emma thought, helping her mother clear the dishes, Killian had charmed Mary-Margaret and won her full and open approval at last.

"So what do you and Killian have planned for next week?" her mother asked, squirting soap into the hot water she was running in the sink.

"Uh, Mary-Margaret, I have a dishwasher," Emma reminded her.

"What? Oh!" her mother responded with mild surprise. She shut the water off. "Sorry. Usually it's just David and me. I guess almost thirty years of modern technology can't erase years of habit from the Enchanted Forest. Do you know how many dishes seven men can produce in just one meal?" She shook her head and proceeded to scrub the dishes by hand nonetheless. "So you were telling me about your plans with Killian?" she prodded, resuming their other thread of conversation.

"I hadn't, actually," Emma answered, picking up a kitchen towel. If her mother was going to the trouble to wash the dishes by hand, the least she could do was dry them. "We don't have anything planned."

"Not even on Thursday?" Mary-Margaret said with a frown.

"Uh, nope."

"Emma, you  _have_  to do something for Valentine's Day!" her mother scolded.

"Wait, that's  _next_  week?" She pulled out her smart phone and flicked through the dates on her calendar app. Sure enough, she discovered that her mother was right. Valentine's Day was next Thursday.  _Shit_.

"You really didn't know?" her mother sighed.

"My shifts have been crazy lately," Emma reminded her mother. "I guess I lost track of my days."

"Hmm," her mother said, "maybe you shouldn't work so many split and double shifts. I'm sure David wouldn't mind taking some more hours."

"Maybe," she said noncommittally. She wasn't about to explain to her mother that she'd been working so many hours to chip in with the dwarves and surprise her parents with a trip to Hawaii for their anniversary in April. "So what do I do? I've been too distracted with work and, well..." She trailed off, giving her mother a significant look. Snow chuckled, causing Emma's cheeks to grow warm. "Are you sure I even need to do much? He's from the Enchanted Forest, and it's not like he has a cursed personality like you and David. Killian doesn't even know what Valentine's Day is."

"Maybe not," her mother conceded, handing her a plate after rinsing it off in cool water, "but don't you think he's going to figure it out? Storybrooke has been decorating for a whole week now, and the shops have been selling Valentine's gifts since practically the day after Christmas. Trust me, Emma. He'll know. Do you really want to disappoint him by not doing anything for him?"

"No." The word was almost a whimper. "But I don't have any sort of experience with this Valentine's thing. Neal had put me in jail by then, and I was never with any other guys long enough for it to be an issue." Because she'd had nothing but a string of one-night stands since Neal. But that was a detail about her past that she didn't care to share with her mother. Hell, she'd only disclosed it to Killian after several weeks of dating, when he'd finally spoken to her in some depth about Milah. "What do I do? Make dinner reservations somewhere?"

"Well, you could," her mother mused, handing her another dish to dry. "But what does he like to do, Emma? Do the sort of things he enjoys most and feels comfortable with." She smiled. "I'm sure everything will turn out just fine."

"Are you ladies about finished?" her father's voice interrupted, walking into the kitchen. He tossed his empty beer bottle into the garbage can. "I think it's about time to head home," he told his wife, "if I'm going to get up for that early shift at the station tomorrow."

"Just finished," Mary-Margaret told him brightly, handing Emma the last dish. She pulled the stopper out of the sink, and the water swirled into a funnel and drained out. "Let me get my coat."

Her mother appeared a moment later, shrugging it on with a frown.

"What's the matter?" David asked.

"I think I need a new coat. I think I shrunk this one when I washed it last week. I guess I was too distracted to notice on the way over." Shaking her head, she hugged Emma and kissed her on the cheek. "Make him feel special," she whispered in her daughter's ear.

Emma blinked. Was this really the same woman who had been holding out hope her daughter might reconcile with Neal until quite recently?

Mary-Margaret released her, and Emma's father bent to kiss her on the cheek. "Killian," her mother said with a smile, hugging him quickly. "Welcome to the family!"

_What the hell?_  Emma thought with embarrassment. Was her mother completely incapable of being normal, instead of jumping from one extreme to another? She glanced at her father, gauging his reaction. But rather than the bulging veins she expected to see popping out of his neck, the prince was instead pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed, and shaking his head in exasperation. Tentatively, she looked past her parents at Killian. He flashed her a smug grin and winked, and she exhaled with relief. She'd been a bit afraid that her mother's overeager assumptions might have made him uncomfortable, but he seemed to take it in stride.

After bidding her parents farewell, Emma shut the door and locked it with a sigh of relief. Closing her eyes, she leaned against it, trying to get her bearings again. The scent of rum and spices filled her nostrils as lips gently brushed her neck, trailing kisses lower and lower until they reached the vee of her t-shirt. She smiled, refusing to open her eyes as she savored the sensation. "What are you doing?" she murmured. "Didn't my parents drive you crazy enough to give you second thoughts?" she teased.

"On the contrary," he whispered, sliding his hand beneath her t-shirt with sensual skill that never failed to send a shiver down her spine. "I'm celebrating." He unhooked her bra in one motion-something that had taken him much practice to perfect. Personally, Emma suspected he'd used his unfamiliarity with the undergarment as an excuse to have his way with her as much as possible, early in their relationship. But as she'd certainly never had any objections, she'd let him "practice" this skill to his heart's content.

"Celebrating, huh?" she whispered raggedly as his hand slid beneath the loosened bra and found her breasts. She opened her eyes, gazing at him archly."Are we gonna celebrate right up against this door or find a bed?"

"Whichever the lady prefers," he purred, pressing himself against her. The hard length of him pushed against her abdomen, and she suddenly felt the overwhelming need to be touching him, as much of him as she could. She needed to press her bare skin to his, their sweat allowing them to slide against each other in frantic need until they found release together.

"The lady prefers not to be kept waiting," she flirted back, loosening the buckle on his belt. She pulled the belt free in one quick motion, dropping it on the floor. Unfastening his jeans, she pushed them down with his underwear in one motion.

"Then as a gentleman," he said, kicking out of them, "I must oblige." He removed his shirt and stepped close again, swiftly divesting her of shirt, pants, and lacy pink underwear.

"Forget the gentleman," she gasped as he began kissing and stroking her in all the right places. "The lady wants her pirate."

He pulled away, eyeing her with amusement, one brow raised. "Indeed? How kinky, Swan." He chuckled. "I like it."

And then, in the first of a series of "celebrations" that night, he pressed her up against the door and proceeded to conquer and plunder her body until both of them, filled with overwhelming emotion and tightly coiled tension, cried their release.

* * *

_Valentine's Day..._

Emma approached the end of the dock, peering up at the Jolly Roger with trepidation. As Mary-Margaret had predicted, Killian had figured out about Valentine's Day. And if his secretive and smug manner the past week had been any indication, the idea of an entire holiday dedicated to romance intrigued the pirate to no end. Emma, on the other hand, had spent most of the past week fretting. How in the hell did you make a pirate feel special, anyway?

After three days of frustration and worry, Emma nearly gave up altogether. Perhaps she ought to simply go shopping with her mother and be done with it. Whatever her mother helped her pick, Emma knew it would be romantic, at least-perhaps sappily so. But at least she would have  _something_  to give her boyfriend.

Henry, noticing her distraction, had finally inquired about it as she walked him home from school Monday afternoon.

_"Mom!" Henry crowed, hopping up and down on the sidewalk the minute after she'd explained her dilemma. "Let me help! I know what you can get him! I have the best idea!"_

_"What is it?" she'd asked warily._

_Henry shook his head. "Nope. You have to see it." Grasping her by the hand, he towed her down the street behind him. It was thus that Operation Swan had been born._

_"Why 'Swan'?" she'd asked suspiciously. "This is about Killian, not me."_

_"Because swans mate for life," he told her matter-of-factly._

_Well, shit, kid, she thought with embarrassment, unable to form words for an actual response. No pressure or anything._

"Do we have everything?" she asked, turning to Henry.

"Yeah." He bobbed his head up and down. "Are you sure he's not going to be here?"

"Nah. He's busy fleecing David's wallet this afternoon." She smiled crookedly at her son's confused expression. "I arranged for them to play poker with Dr. Whale and Dr. Hopper," she clarified. "We have plenty of time to set up."

"Great!" he said with enthusiasm. "Let's get started."

Emma followed her son aboard the Jolly Roger and they made their way down to the galley of the ship, carting bags full of groceries with them. "I hope you're right about all of this." She peered around the old-fashioned facilities and shook her head. "Good thing we brought the camping stoves," she muttered, jerking her head toward ancient cooking pots that hung suspended over a large sandbox elevated on top of a layer of bricks. "Cooking in those would take forever."

"So do you remember what to do?" she asked her son, when they finished cooking some time later. Following him topside, she smiled as a breeze scuttled across the deck. The weather, while not exactly warm, was pleasant today. She and Killian might be able to eat on deck if he felt inclined.

"Yeah. Convince him I left my homework here yesterday, and I gotta get it back or Mary-Margaret will kill me."

"Well...'kill' might be a strong word," she smiled, "but that's close enough." Reaching forward, she swept him into a hug. "Thanks kid."

"I wish I could see the look on his face when he opens his gift," Henry said wistfully.

"But then you'd miss your party at Grace's house," she winked.

"I know, I know." He grinned briefly, then his face fell. "You're sure she'll like the valentine?"

"Hey, you helped me, I helped you. Trust me. She'll adore it."

"Thanks, Mom." He hugged her tightly.

"Hey, no problem, kid. Just make sure you call Regina and Neal when you're ready to get picked up. And be good for them."

"I will, I promise." Releasing her, he shot her a grin and raced down the gangplank to set Operation Swan into action at last.

"And now," she muttered to herself with a nervous shudder. "I prepare my part of Operation Swan." She waited several moments to be certain her son had left for good, and hurried to Killian's cabin. Retrieving the sack she'd stashed in Killian's cabin last night, she shucked her dress off and slipped into a screaming red babydoll and matching panties. She'd never worn actual lingerie for him before, but this part of his present, at least, she was certain Killian would love, even if Henry's idea was a bust.

Slipping her dress back on, Emma zipped it up and pulled on her winter coat, emerging on deck in just enough time to hear Killian and Henry walking down the dock toward the ship.

"Thanks a lot, Killian!" Henry was saying as they walked up the gangplank. "I owe you one!"

Emma took a deep breath and stepped forward as Killian stepped onto his ship. "Surprise!" she said nervously. "Care to do a little sailing tonight?"

"Swan?" He looked from her to Henry. "You two planned this?"

"Yeah. We did."

"Were you surprised, Killian?" Henry smiled.

"Aye," he said with a wry look. "I gather now that you don't really need your homework, do you, lad?"

"Nope," her son said jovially. He hugged the pirate. "Happy Valentine's Day!" he said. "I gotta hurry and go, now."

"Where?" the pirate asked in confusion.

"Grace's party!" Henry shouted over his shoulder as he left the ship and dashed across the docks.

Killian fixed his gaze on Emma. Smiling uncertainly, she walked toward her boyfriend and embraced him. "Happy Valentine's Day?" she said, and the statement sounded more like a question, because she was already second-guessing Operation Swan. She kissed him on the cheek.

"Well, now," he smiled at her, "aren't you the secretive little minx? Happy Valentine's Day, love."

"We can do something else if you don't like-"

He put a finger on her lips, halting her babble. "Darling, I wouldn't dream of depriving myself of the pleasure of all your hard work and planning." He kissed her neck. "Although this does alter my plans just a bit."

"Oh," she said with chagrin. It hadn't occurred to her that he might have something special planned for their evening as well. A present, certainly, from the hints he'd been throwing around all week, but not actual plans to do things.

"Don't worry, darling, it'll keep until we return home," he reassured her. "Care to help me at the wheel, love?"

"Okay." She smiled to herself. It was an excuse to slip his arms around her and press close while she steered the ship, and they both knew it. They pulled anchor and set sail within minutes, the Jolly Roger coasting through the water at an easy pace. He held her, as she suspected he would, his head nested against hers and his arms clasped around her waist as Emma manned the wheel. It was so comfortable that she almost hated it when, quite some time later, she pulled away and told him to drop the anchor again.

He peered at the open water surrounding them on all sides. "You're sure, darling? We can go farther out, if you like."

"That's okay. I like seeing a bit of the shore along the horizon. Besides, we don't want our food to get too cold."

He raised an eyebrow at that and she made her way down to the galley again while he dropped anchor. Lifting the lids on the pots and pans, she used a thermometer to make sure the food was still warm. Satisfied that they wouldn't be getting food poisoning tonight, she prepared a plate for Killian and then herself.

"Smells good, Swan," he said from the doorway. "You cooked all this?"

"Henry helped," she admitted. "Regina's been giving him cooking lessons. Where do you want to eat? In the hall, or out on deck?"

He eyed her with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "My quarters?"

"All right," she said after a moment of hesitation. She was fairly certain she hadn't left anything sitting out that might spoil her surprises for later. She followed him through the ship and up to his cabin, laughing to herself silently. Killian was angling for some "dessert," as they'd long ago termed sex, after they ate. (It had been weeks before Emma hadn't felt the urge to blush every time Henry innocently used the term.) He had absolutely no idea what was in store for him in that department.

"Very good seafood, Swan," he complimented her as they finished dinner. "Much better than anything our cook ever prepared. Better flavors than what seasonings and supplies we were limited to aboard our vessel." He reached for her plate and stacked it against his, placing them both on a table which usually held maps and all manner of tools used to navigate.

"Thanks." She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear nervously. "I have a present for you."

He watched with interest as she retrieved a shopping bag from a cupboard on the other side of the cabin. Reaching into the bag, she removed the gift. She'd wrapped it in white paper with curling red ribbon. "Here." She placed it in his hands. "Open it."

Pulling the ribbon off first, Killian opened the present with slow precision, much as he had at Christmas. It had puzzled her, at first, since she'd assumed that pirates would be the rip-it-open-with-glee sort of people, but Killian had explained that gifts, like treasure, were something to be opened and handled with care, for haste was as likely to destroy an irreplaceable artifact as it was to trigger a trap.

"It was Henry's idea," she told him when he unwrapped the book. "Since you like to read so much."

Killian ran his finger over the spine, and traced the letters stamped on the book's cover. "Treasure Island," he read. He smiled in amusement.

"It's a famous book about pirates in our world," she explained. She walked over to him and opened the cover. "Look," she said, pointing inside.

"1883," he read.

"First edition," she clarified. "It used to belong to the Storybrooke library, but Henry convinced Belle to part with it for a fraction of its actual worth in exchange for our help in setting up a digital card catalog and internet access for the library-and teaching her how to use them. She has her heart set on modernizing the place a bit more, but hasn't had anyone to help her."

"This is an incredible gift, Swan," he said in a soft voice. "Thank you." Setting the book down with reverence on a small table near the bed, he turned to her. "But not as incredible as you," he murmured, drawing her into the shelter of his arms.

"Hold that thought," she murmured as he nibbled on her ear. He pulled away, puzzled. Emma took advantage of this moment of confusion to slip the handcuffs out of her coat pocket. Pushing his arms together behind his back, she latched the cuffs shut over his the wrist of his unmaimed arm and the wooden prosthetic that attached to his hook underneath the leather sleeve he wore on his other arm. "You were right about the handcuffs," she told the stunned pirate, shrugging out of her coat. Pushing her hair over one shoulder, she unzipped her dress slowly and then let it fall to the floor. "I really do have a thing for them."

"Gods, Swan," he croaked, as she kicked her dress away and stepped toward him in the lingerie. "Are you trying to kill me?"

Laughing softly, she gently pushed him onto the bed. "Of course not," she purred, leaning over him. "I can't have hot sex with a pirate if he's dead." Trailing her fingertips down his chest, she unbuttoned his shirt with incredible slowness. "Of course," she told him coyly, "that doesn't mean I don't intend to torture him until he almost wishes he was dead." Parting the navy colored fabric, she planted a single kiss in the center of his chest.

Emma took her time undressing him. She lingered in her care of him, a kiss here, a stroke or a slow lick there, and Killian's breath became shallow and panting after a time, the expression in his blue eyes desperate. He rocked his hips against her, trying to entice her to pay more attention to his masculine wiles, but she only laughed wickedly and continued to lick, stroke, and nuzzle other parts of his anatomy instead.

"Swan!" he almost shouted at her in frustration.

Giggling, Emma sat up. "All right," she relented, reaching underneath him to unlock the handcuffs. "Ruin my fun, why don't you."

The cuffs were shaken off instantly. "I'll show you some bloody fun," he growled, pinning her down on the bed, his eyes wild with lust. Reaching forward with his hook, he ripped through the babydoll and panties with one quick pull from chest to abdomen. Emma gasped in surprise, staring at him. With one simple movement, he had made her feel incredibly turned on. Maybe she'd start letting him wear the hook during sex after all...

Killian gave back as good as she'd given him, and by the time he finally entered her, they were both slick with sweat and gasping desperately for breath. Pausing to ply her collarbone with kisses, he began to move within her, foregoing the usual build from gentle to frantic. Emma moaned, amazed that it was possible to be turned on all the more by his quick, hard thrusts. A few moments later, amid the haze of lust, she was vaguely aware of the drawn out scream that he coaxed from her when she reached her peak. Her arms relaxed as the tension left her body, and her grip on him loosened. Killian's gaze was smugly satisfied. "All right there, Swan?" he teased between breaths.

But he reached his own climax before she had time to answer, and after several drawn out moans of his own, he collapsed on top her, spent. Cradling the nape of his head with one hand, she planted a kiss on his jawline. "God, this is the best Valentine's Day ever," she grinned.

He rolled off of her, his expression coy. "It isn't over yet, darling."

* * *

They returned home three hours later, hands clasped together, smiling at each other like no one else in the world existed. Climbing the steps of the front porch together, Killian paused when they reached the top and drew her into a kiss. She cupped his face in her hands and returned it with tenderness, feeling in her soul that she had made the right decision in asking Killian to live with her. They broke apart with a smile, eyes locked on each other for a time before they clasped hands again and approached the front door. A large pink and white basket overflowing with flowers and tied off with garish red balloons sat in a corner of the porch, and Emma halted mid-step, throwing a confused glance at Killian.

"Don't look at me," he said with a disgusted look on his face. "That's not my work."

She knelt to check the card on the flowers, and heard him mutter darkly, "They had better not be from that jackass, Neal."

"He's with Regina now," she reminded him. "Besides," she said, handing him the card, "they're from my parents. Look."

He glanced at the card and then surveyed the basket again. "It looks like your mother's idea, all right."

Laughing, she unlocked the door, thankful that she hadn't resorted to using Mary-Margaret's help in picking out Killian's gift after all. "She meant well," Emma felt the need to say as she hefted the flowers onto the counter. "Probably overcompensating for all those years she couldn't give me anything." Killian shut the door, and walked over to her.

"Emma, that bloody light is blinking again," he told her.

"That's the voicemail," she reminded him patiently. "Press the big button and play back the message. It's probably Mary-Margaret and David, anyway."

He obliged, and the machine proceeded to play back no less a long, rambling message from a breathless and very excited Mary-Margaret, urging Emma to return her call as soon as she received it, tomorrow.

"I wonder what she wants." She frowned. "Should I call her back tonight, or wait until tomorrow like she asked? She knows it's Valentine's Day. Do you think something's wrong?"

"If something was wrong, darling, I doubt she would have left such a cheerful message or such a-" he glanced at the basket of flowers again with a disbelieving shake of his head "-large basket of flowers." He shrugged. "Call her back, if you like. I've something to attend to for a moment, anyway," he told her with a mysterious wink. "Don't come in the bedroom."

"Now there's a first," she snorted at him as he retreated. His answering chuckle echoed down the hall to her, and she dialed her mother's phone number with a smile. "Hello? Mary-Margaret?" Her mother's voice was unusually cheerful (even for her) when she replied, and Emma listened for a few moments as her mother explained the reason for her strange message. "What? A baby?" Emma stuttered. "Congratulations," she said faintly. "When are you due? September?" She paused, trying to process it all. "Of course I'm happy," she reassured her mother. "I'm just surprised." And, she realized with a clarity that startled her, a little jealous.

She chatted with a few more moments, offering to take Mary-Margaret shopping for the new baby next weekend, thinking wistfully of the lost opportunity to shop for her own child when she'd given Henry up for adoption. "Mary-Margaret? I gotta go," she said, seeing Killian emerge from their bedroom at last. "Congratulations again." She paused. "Yeah, I'll tell him. Thanks for calling. Henry will be so excited." She bid her mother goodbye and pressed the button to end the call on her cell phone.

"Good news, then, love?" Killian said, watching her from the doorway. His hands were hidden in his trouser pockets, and he wore the faintest smile.

"Yeah. My parents are having another baby." She stared at her boyfriend, still dazed from the news. "They just found out the results from the doctor today."

He walked over to her, hugging her. "And are you happy with the news?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said honestly, "I mean it's  _weird_ , don't get me wrong, but everything in this town is weird. What's a sibling thirty years younger than you, compared to sharing custody of your child with your step-grandmother and her boyfriend, which just so happens to be your own  _ex_ -boyfriend and the natural father of said child?" She shook her head. "Kid'll fit right into the bizarreness of our family tree."

He laughed softly. "That's what I like about you, darling. Always taking life's adventures in stride." He leaned close to her ear. "I have something for you, sweetheart. But first, dessert."

She grinned. "You're insatiable."

"Actual dessert, you dirty-minded darling of mine," he chuckled, leading her into the kitchen.

Emma stopped short when she saw the neat linen tablecloth that hung over her small table, and the two tall, wine-colored candles that sat atop it next to a bottle of champagne. "What's all this?"

Killian used his hook to uncork the bottle of champagne with a loud pop. "Well, I'd intended to cook dinner for you, love, but you beat me to the idea." He poured a flute of champagne and handed it to her. "But dessert is in the big cold box-"

"Fridge," she corrected with a grin.

"Fridge," he sighed. "So we can still enjoy that."

"Wait a minute," she said, "you can cook? You couldn't even work a toaster right the first time you tried to make me breakfast. There are still scorch marks on my counter from where Henry put out the fire."

"And a humbling experience it was," he agreed with a pained expression as he poured himself some champagne. He lifted the alcohol to his lips and inhaled its scent. His expression was comically skeptical as he sipped at the liquid. Apparently he'd never had champagne before, either. "I've been taking lessons."

"What? When? And why?"

"For nearly a month," he said, taking a larger swallow of the alcohol, which apparently agreed with him more than he'd figured. "Ruby taught me for a while, but when Snow found out a few days ago, she offered to take over the lessons." He shrugged. "Henry will have someone to cook for him when you're working late, and I can give you a break now and then, darling." He eyed her with amusement. "I know you don't exactly enjoy cooking."

"Thanks," she told him with sincerity. "Wait-did you just call my mother 'Snow'?"

"Aye, she asked me to."

Emma blinked. "She's never asked  _me_  to call her that," she said slowly.

"Well, if I had to guess, darling," he said with a knowing gaze, "I'd say she's hoping you'll take the initiative and call her 'Mum'."

"I'm not ready."

"When the time is right, the words will come easily."

"So-what's for dessert?" she asked, changing the subject.

Killian looked almost embarrassed. "Cake."

"Cake?" she echoed, peering over his shoulder as he opened the fridge. "What kind of cake?" He mumbled a reply, leaning into the fridge to retrieve it. "What was that?"

"Rum cake," he sighed, holding it up.

"Let me guess, my mom's idea."

"Your father's, actually." He shut the fridge door with the heel of his boot, turning toward her. "Your mum was too busy being ill, and Dave said if he was going to be stuck baking in her stead, he might as well have fun with it." He looked thoughtful. "Though that may have something to do with the rum I'd already slipped him when your mother wasn't looking. He may not have actually intended it to be a rum cake. By the end of my visit, he was pouring rum in everything."

She didn't know whether to groan or laugh. "I bet Mary-Margaret loved that. Killian, you're going to undo all the good will my mom finally has for you, if you're not careful."

"I live for danger, darling, you know that," he winked.

"Yeah, yeah, let's taste this cake, House Boy."

Killian lit the candles while Emma cut two pieces of cake and placed them on dessert plates. They ate the cake in companionable silence. The rum was rather strong, but not overpowering, and Emma chalked it up to her father's liberal hand with the alcohol. She made a mental note not to let him have unsupervised reign in her kitchen around the holidays, or the eggnog might make everyone pass out before they got to the turkey. Still, the mental picture of her boyfriend and her father trying to bake a cake together was enough to make her giggle.

"Something amuse you, darling?" he asked with a suspicious glint in his eye.

"Nope," she said, trying not to choke on her cake. She took a long drink of her champagne. "Not at all." He gave her a sour look as she collapsed into laughter again. "This really is good cake," she told him when she'd calmed down again. "Thank you."

They each ate another piece of cake despite the strong rum, and Killian cleared away the dishes afterward while Emma snuffed the candles. "And now, sweetheart," he told her as they walked back to the living room, "a gift. Close your eyes."

She eyed him for a moment, wondering what it might be, and closed her eyes with a smile. She sensed movement as he stepped around her, and warm fingers brushed her hair aside, folding it over one shoulder. Cool metal slid against her skin, and she reached for it instinctively, her fingers closing around the necklace.

"Open your eyes."

Emma loosened her hold on the chain and peered down at the necklace Killian had fastened around her neck. A gleaming, teardrop-shaped emerald hung from a gold chain of tiny, interlocking octagons. "This is too much," she breathed, "I can't accept this."

"You haven't a choice, darling," he informed her with a soft smile. "So don't argue." She opened her mouth to argue anyway, but he kissed her cheek. "It belonged to my mother. My father gave it to her as a betrothal present. It was the only thing of his she kept after he left us." A hint of sadness entered his gaze. "It was meant for Liam, but after he died, she gave it to me and made me promise I would give it to the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with."

Her eyes widened, and she took a step back. "Killian, is this-?"

He stepped toward her, closing the gap she'd put between them instinctively. "No, darling. Only a request that you think about it. In the meantime," he breathed, kissing her softly on the lips, "it looks stunning on you."

She traced the shape of the emerald, wondering if the necklace had once belonged to Milah. His expression became pained when she found the courage to ask that question, and he shook his head. "I considered giving it to her many times, but I always put it off, waiting for the perfect moment." His blue eyes reflected a bitter sadness. "That moment never came, and I lost my chance." He looked up, meeting her gaze. "I didn't want to make the same mistake again. Please, Swan. I know it's too soon, and I risk scaring you away, but I want you to have it."

"Please," she said with a dismissive snort after several moments of intense silence, "afraid of a book-loving pirate who's taking cooking lessons from my mother?" But she hoped the look she gave him while she spoke told him all he needed to know about the possibility of a future together, even if the words stuck in her throat.  _Home_ , she thought.  _You and Henry are my home, my forever_.

Maybe someday soon she might be able to tell him.

"Now, Swan," he told her, wrapping his arms around her waist, "be nice, or I won't dance with you." Resting his hooked appendage around her waist, he clasped her other hand in his and guided her in a series of movements that felt very formal and old-fashioned.

"Shut up, House Boy," she teased him with a smirk, nestling her head in the curve of his neck as he swirled her around the living room.

"You have the most interesting monikers for me, love. 'Yard Boy,' 'House Boy'... Someday you must explain them to me."

"Maybe," she smiled, "but where's the fun in that?"

"That's all right love." Laughter rumbled low in his throat, vibrating against her ear. "Knowing the way your mind works, I can gather their meaning well enough . Honestly, Swan," he said with an innocent air, "I think you're the one that's corrupting me, turning ordinary things such as yard work or dessert into something dirty... And those handcuffs-!"

She lifted her head from his chest and fixed him with a knowing gaze. "Don't pretend you don't like it," smiled wickedly.

"On the contrary, darling," he grinned, "I adore it about you."

"Good." She locked her arms around his neck, stilling his steps with her gaze. "Adore this," she insisted, drawing him into another heady kiss.

"Always," he murmured in answer when they broke apart, breathless and unsteady.

But Emma wasn't done with him, not by far. Her fingers scrabbled for the buttons of his shirt again, tugging them with all the impatience she had restrained herself from earlier that night. Buttons popped off the shirt, scattering into unknown corners of the room. She'd have to remember to find them later, she thought vaguely, before Henry found them all over the living room carpet. Knowing his mom was living with her boyfriend and having sex with him was one thing to know  _in theory_ , but in actual practice?

She caressed his chest with hungry fingers, enjoying the silken skin that underlaid the coarseness of his chest hair. It was a combination that she found intensely arousing; one that she had never fully appreciated with any other man. Nipping at a shoulder, she shifted, sliding her arms around his neck, and inhaled his scent. Even when he wasn't wearing his pirate outfit or drinking, he still smelled of leather and rum.

He responded to her urgency in kind, backing her into the couch with hot, openmouthed kisses along her collarbone. She fell onto the soft cushions with a sigh, and Killian settled himself between her thighs, pressing his body flush with hers. Reaching around with his hand, he unzipped her dress. Emma obliged him and shifted, shimmying out of it as he laid her on her back. The necklace he had given her slid to the side with her movements, and she paused, lifting the emerald to peer at it. Shifting her gaze to Killian's, she saw that he was watching her, a question in his eyes.

"Someday," she whispered the promise, and he smiled. The gentle understanding in his eyes told her that he knew what an enormous admission it was for her.

"But for now," she told him, slipping her arms over his shoulders, admiring the muscular strength of them, "what we have is enough."

"As you wish, my love."

* * *

_Late August..._

Emma shifted in the bed she shared with Killian, not quite awake, but not fully asleep. Sunlight warmed her face, and she rolled away from it, instinctively seeking to snuggle against Killian. Instead of the wall of warmth and comfort she expected, her arms encountered cold sheets. She rubbed at her eyes and sat up.

A small grey box sat on the pillow where Killian usually slumbered next to her. Wondering if this was a dream, she reached forward and touched it, tracing its shape with one finger. It felt real enough. Emma picked it up, holding it in her palm for a moment before curiosity got the better of her. She eased it open.

A gold ring was nestled inside, adorned with a single teardrop-shaped emerald. Emma smiled, for it had clearly been designed as a match to the necklace Killian had given her several months ago. She turned the box at an angle, admiring the ring, and the emerald winked at her in the sunlight. Swallowing thickly, she searched the room for him, knowing by instinct that he lurked nearby.

She found him tucked in a corner of the room, leaning against the wall. His arms were crossed, the sole of one boot resting against the wall, and he wore the most adorable smirk she had ever seen.

"Well, love?"

Smiling, she held out her hand.


	2. Deleted Scene #1: Baby Fever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is the first in a series of deleted scenes for The House Boy. There was so much I wanted to include of them learning to live and grow together before they got engaged, but the fic was already very long, and there just wasn't room. So I'm including them to give you glimpses of what went on in their life together between Valentine's Day and their engagement. I hope you enjoy them!

The harsh florescent glow of the boutique's lights were giving her a headache, Emma Swan decided, flicking through a pile of baby onesies that were on sale. Or maybe it was the somewhat spastic way her mother alternated between chattering about the new baby on the way, and Emma's relationship with her boyfriend, Killian Jones. Whichever one it was, she definitely needed some aspirin, Emma decided, digging in her purse for the little bottle of ibuprofen she kept there for cramps or the lingering headaches that dealing with the mishaps of Storybrooke's unusual residents often gave her. Popping a couple of the pills in her mouth, she swallowed with difficulty, her throat rebelling against the dryness of the pills, and returned the bottle to her purse.

"So what do you think of this one?" Mary-Margaret held up a tiny pink cotton onesie embroidered with daisies.

"Little early to be picking out something so...pink, isn't it? I mean, it will be months before you know for certain what gender the baby is."

"Not that long," her mother shrugged. "Only about two and a half months."

"I still can't believe it took you so long to figure out you were pregnant," Emma teased. "All the sickness, being so tired, your coat not fitting..."

"Pregnancy in the Enchanted Forest was different," her mother defended herself. "You didn't have pregnancy tests to find out that sort of thing when you were a little late. People weren't hyper-vigilant about it like they are now." She shrugged, placing the onesie back on the shelf with a frown. "Besides, I'm always a little tired around the holidays, so I didn't think much about it. And it was winter, so the kids are passing around a lot of germs, and people were making cookies and treats." She laid a hand on her slightly rounded belly. "I just thought I'd put on a few pounds."

Emma smiled. "Well, when you put it that way, I guess it makes sense, sorta."

"What about you, Emma?" her mother said suddenly, turning to her with a thoughtful expression, clutching the strap of her purse with her right hand. "Have you and Killian discussed more children?"

"Wait, what? What the hell?" she choked, caught off guard. "Mom, it's been like a matter of weeks since he's moved in!"

A slow smile spread across her mother's face, until the other woman was fairly beaming at her. "You called me 'Mom'!" she sniffed, her eyes welling up with tears. She threw her arms around Emma, hot wet tears soaking through the shoulder of Emma's shirt. "Oh, Emma! I'm so happy!"

Not that you could tell, Emma thought, with the way she was carrying on.  _Crazy pregnancy hormones_ , she snorted to herself. She gave her mother's shoulder an awkward pat. "Uh, yeah...no problem," she managed, uncomfortable with the sudden outpouring of affection from the other woman. Emma hadn't intended to say the word, hadn't given it any forethought at all. It had just slipped out, without warning.

 _When the time is right, the words will come easily_. Killian's words echoed in her head, and Emma smiled to herself, even as she felt a surge of annoyance. Did the man always have to be so infuriatingly right about  _everything_?

Her mother released her, wiping at her eyes with a sniff. "So?" she asked after she'd managed to compose herself. "You were saying?"

"About what?" Emma hedged, paying careful attention to a set of colorful baby bibs.

"Have you and Killian talked about having kids?"

"Not really," she answered, neglecting to mention that she had been thinking about the subject a lot, ever since she'd received the news that she would be getting a sibling. "I mean, it's a little soon, don't you think?" she pointed out. "He just moved in."

"But he gave you that," her mother said, giving the emerald necklace that Emma wore a significant look. "That seems fairly serious."

"Well, he  _is_  a pirate," she pointed out. "He has a thing for flashy jewelry."

"I wouldn't call that flashy," her mother said, giving the necklace a considering look. "More like elegant. Where did he buy it?"

"He didn't," she admitted, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. "It was his mother's."

Mary-Margaret's face lit up like it was Christmas morning. "His mother's?" She shook her head and gave Emma an  _Are-you-kidding-me-how-can-you-be-so-dense?_  look. "That's pretty serious."

More than her mother knew.

"So how do you feel about it?" Mary-Margaret asked, turning her attention back to a rack of sleepers. "Is it something you'd want someday?"

"I-I, well," Emma stammered, feeling like a cornered animal, "I mean, he knows I want to, someday." Her mother flashed her a strange look. "I mean, he said it was his mother's engagement present, so the topic kind of came up. I mean, it's on the table, but-"

Her mother smirked, laughing softly. "Emma, I was talking about babies again."

"Oh." Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

"You two have talked about marriage, then?"

"I-well...kind of? We're thinking about it."

"Hmm," her mother said, eyeing her sidelong. "That's not how I heard it from David."

"What do you mean?" Emma furrowed her brow in confusion.

Her mother shrugged, selecting a set of three sleepers in neutral tones of yellow and green. She laid them in the cart. "David said that when he talked to Killian about it, Killian seemed pretty definite that a proposal was in the future." She put another set of sleepers in the cart, white with pale blue trim.

So that was what her dad had been discussing with Killian when he'd moved into Emma's house. It made sense now. "Wait, did he try to pressure Killian into this?" She fingered the necklace around her neck, growing cold at the thought.

"Oh, Emma. If it had been your father's choice, Killian would have proposed and married you all in ten minutes before he moved into the house, just for propriety." She pushed her cart closer to a different rack of clothing. "Killian told him you'd want more time, that he didn't want to push things before you were ready. But he does intend to ask someday. I guess that's why I wondered about kids. David made it sound like a betrothal was only a matter of time."

 _He did, did he?_  she thought with a spark of annoyance. Perhaps she'd just have a little talk with her father. And Killian, for that matter. Granted, her boyfriend hadn't had a lot of choice in talking about the matter the way her father had cornered him, but-

"Emma," her mother gently reproached, "don't be mad at your father. He just wants to protect you, make sure that you aren't hurt again." She paused, her cheerful expression faltering. "Like Neal hurt you." She sighed. "I was so wrong about Killian."

"Don't," she told her mother.

"But Emma-"

"Look, I'll spare David and Killian a lecture if you spare yourself the guilt, okay?" She moved over to join her mother by the other racks of clothing. "You and Killian are getting along great now, and-and that means a lot to me." She held up a set of onesies in tones of yellow and white, patterned with laughing ducks wearing cheeky little sailor caps set askew on their heads. Emma had an affinity for ducks. "What do think?" she asked, to distract her mother.

Mary-Margaret's face scrunched up as she considered it. "Mmm...too cutesy," she decided after a minute.

 _Seriously?_  Emma thought in disbelief as she put the onesies back on the rack.  _This from a woman whose entire house is decorated in pictures of fluffy bunnies and other small woodland creatures?_ She shook her head in amusement and tried not to grin. "What about teddy bears?" she suggested.

Her mother's face lit up. "Oooh, I love-" Mary-Margaret stopped mid-sentence, an uncomfortable look on her face. "Excuse me," she choked, sprinting for the bathroom at the back of the store, one hand clamped over her mouth.

Emma watched to make sure her mother reached the restroom in time, then turned away with a sigh. Her gaze fell on the set of duckling onesies again. Her fingers brushed the fabric with a slight smile. Her mother was crazy, Emma decided, they were adorable. A sense of longing washed over her again, and before she had time to think about it, to instill a splinter of reason in her thoughts, she picked the set of onesies off the rack and went to pay for them.

It would be her little secret.

* * *

**_Several weeks later_ **

"Love," Killian's voice floated to her from the bedroom. "Can you come here for a minute?"

Emma frowned at the odd tone in his voice and rolled off the couch, where she'd been lounging with Henry, watching Saturday morning cartoons. "Yeah?" she asked, walking into their bedroom. "What's-" She halted just inside the doorway.

Killian stood in the middle of the room, holding up the set of duckling onesies she'd purchased on foolish, hormonal whim several weeks before. His expression was mildly aggravated. "Something you want to tell me, darling?" he inquired, his voice half-strangled.

She bounded across the room and tried to snatch it from him. "No."

He pulled back with a grin, using his hook to dangle it above her, just out of reach. "You're certain about that, love?"

"They're for Mary-Margaret," she lied, trying to swipe them again.

He raised a brow. "Oh? And you keep all gifts for Mary-Margaret hidden at the bottom of your underwear drawer?"

"What the hell were you doing rifling through my underwear?" she hissed. And she knew what a stupid question it was the moment it flew out of her mouth. She  _had_  asked him to put away the laundry this morning. Still, that didn't mean he had to paw through her delicates in the process, did it? Even if it was in keeping with her delightfully sex-crazed pirate's personality.

"Nothing I haven't seen before, love," he said, his eyes travelling down the length of her body with an appreciative smirk. He stepped close to her, wrapping his unmaimed arm around her waist. "Now," he murmured, "do you want to tell me what this is all about, sweetheart? Are you-are we...expecting a wee one, Emma?"

She repressed a smile at his archaic term for a baby. It was so unequivocally and adorably Killian. "No," she told him soberly, "we're not."

His expression became confused-and did she detect just the faintest hint of disappointment in his eyes? "Then-" He looked down at the onesies still hanging from the hook at his side. "I don't understand."

She shuddered a sigh. "I, um, bought them several weeks ago on impulse. I-I'd been thinking about another baby..."

"You want a baby?" He watched her, his expression unreadable.

"Maybe?" She shrugged a shoulder. "I don't know."

He eyed her skeptically. "Emma."

"All right, all right," she admitted in embarrassed exasperation. "I want another baby. I've been thinking about it a lot, ever since Mary-Margaret told me she was pregnant." His brow furrowed together, and she rushed on, "I guess...I guess I'm jealous. She's getting a second chance. I think I want a second chance at motherhood, too."

"And just when did you want this new baby?" he asked hoarsely, fixing her with a smoldering gaze.

She flushed. "When we get married."

"When?" A slow smile spread across his face. "And here I thought we were still contemplating eventual betrothal, love."

"Please," she deadpanned, "I know you told my father you think we're getting married someday."

"Your father's a right bloody little gossip when he's had a bit to drink," he groused. "Fun, though," he grinned. Killian cupped her face with his hand. "Emma, darling," he said in a more serious tone, "how much do you want this baby? We don't have to wait so long if you're certain you want one; if you're certain about a future with me."

She stepped back, tempted by his offer. "No, Killian," she told him gently, deciding to lay all her cards on the table, "I want to wait-even though marriage and a baby with you is what I want more than anything in the world right now. I want...I want to do this differently than it was with Neal. Everything happened so fast with him. I mean, I barely knew him before we started sleeping together, and boom! Before I knew it, I was unwed and pregnant and sitting in a jail cell. I want things to be different this time around. Because  _we_  are different."

He smiled at her. "Of course. Anything you wish, darling."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Anyone see that little tip of the hat reference to Lieutenant Duckling in here? :) I've been reading Lt. Duckling fics lately, and oh my gosh, they are so cute!


	3. Deleted Scene #2: Game Night

Emma Swan stared at the set of wooden shelves in front of her, board games stacked in haphazard piles upon them. Picking a game had never been so difficult before Killian's addition to their household. Now, even the simplest of games loomed before her like a veritable minefield of questions and complications. ("So these children have to eat their way through this land of sweets without a single drink of water? What kind of torture are you advocating, Swan?!" or "But who gets the treasure in the middle? And why do I have to bribe the guard or leave it up to chance to get out of jail? I could pick the cell lock with my hook, easy." Or Emma's favorite, "What kind of masochistic game is this, Swan?! They don't even give you cannons to defend your ships while people try to sink them?!")

"Well, kid, what do you think?" she asked after a moment, glancing down at her son. "What should we play tonight?"

"Definitely not Risk," Henry huffed.

Emma smiled. "I don't know, it was pretty entertaining see him wipe the floor with David last week."

No one had suspected the pirate would be such a brilliant strategist, least of all her father, who had had a small amount of tactical training under King George. But it had become rapidly apparent throughout the game, as Emma, Henry, and Mary-Margaret were quickly taken out, resulting in a fierce one-on-one competition between Killian and her father, that her boyfriend's seldom talked-about naval background gave him a distinct advantage; that he commanded land units instead of naval ones simply didn't matter, Killian had explained with cheeky satisfaction as he steadily pared David's forces down to nothing-a good captain, land or sea, had to think on his feet and adapt to situations at a moment's notice.

"Yeah, but grandpa's not here," Henry pointed out as Killian looked up from his book with interest. "And I'd like to play a game I could, you know, conceivably win this time." He scanned the shelves with a thoughtful look. "Operation?"

"He plays with buzzer the whole game, trying to figure out how it works. I don't have enough aspirin in the house for that."

He sighed. "Scrabble?"

Emma considered the suggestion. Killian did like to read. He might enjoy a word game. And any advantage he might have in the extensive vocabulary he had amassed over three hundred years would be negated by both the rules of the game and the sheer luck involved in drawing letters from a bag. "All right," she nodded. "Set it up. I'll get the snacks."

Humming, she busied herself preparing a platter of food while Henry unpacked the game onto the dining room table. Warm breath kissed her skin a few minutes later, while she poured soda into three cups, and the familiar weight of Killian pressed against her as he embraced her from behind. "You know, darling," he murmured in her ear, "I know a better game that we can both play after the lad's in bed."

Emma fought back a smile. "Aw, but we played that one last night," she teased in a low tone.

"And you  _loved_  it-as always," he shot back with a smug grin while she moved away to put the cap back on the soda bottle.

"Hmm," she said with a non-committal shrug as she folded all three sodas into her hands. She brushed past him, her face carefully blank, laughing inside at the astonished look on his face.

"Reviewing the instructions?" she asked Henry, setting the drinks on the table. He bobbed his head at her absently. "Great, fill us in when you finish. Killian's never played, and I could use a refresher. I haven't played in a while."

The platter of snacks thunked down on the table next to her. Emma looked up. Killian hovered over her shoulder, the expression on his face dark. "Got bored with it, perhaps?" he asked, holding her gaze as he enunciated each word with a precision that could have cut diamonds.

Emma blinked.  _Crap,_  she thought.  _Uh-oh._  She'd upset him. That hadn't been her intention at all. She'd just teased him as she always had; bantering was what they did. And he was always so smug about his own sexual prowess that it simply hadn't occurred to her that he would take it in anything but stride, offering a witty comeback of his own.  _Who would have thought Killian was so insecure about sex?_  she thought in amazement. Or was it the sex at all? Was he worried that she was growing bored with  _him_ , now that they lived together?

One thing was for certain. She had to put the brakes on this crazy train before it derailed their entire night.

"Never," she murmured, glancing up at him. She smiled tentatively, hoping she could find the words to make this right again. "I find the game quite...fun. Even if I do say stupid things about it sometimes."

He stared at her for a moment as her words registered with him. His features smoothed, the hurt and offense draining away. He smiled softly, the light entering his eyes again. He swallowed slowly and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. "Well. That's good to know."

Henry looked up, confusion evident on his face. "You always complain about how much you  _hate_  Scrabble, Mom, and how you can never get the letters you want."

She grinned, glancing at Killian before she spoke. "Sometimes the things you think you hate grow on you. Move over, kid." She sat down next to her son while Killian circled the table to his own seat.

Henry expelled an annoyed sigh. "Whatever. Are you two ready to play, or what?"

Killian smirked at her from across the table. "Oh, I'm quite ready," he declared.

Emma rolled her eyes, not quite managing to hide the smile that betrayed her relief and amusement. Her flirtatious pirate was back, and everything was normal again. Or as normal as being Sheriff of a town full of fairytale characters could get. Normal for a woman the same age as her parents, with a sibling almost thirty years younger than her on the way, and a son she shared custody of with her step-grandmother, the Evil Queen, and her ex-boyfriend, Henry's father, who was dating said step-grandmother.

Emma shuddered. Really, no matter how you looked at it, her life was fucked up. But a good kind of fucked up, she decided, since it had all brought her son back to her and enabled her to meet Killian.

"So," Henry finished, after reciting the rules of the game, "you go first, Mom, since you drew a C. Then Killian, then me." He held out the bag for them to return their tiles.

"All right," she sighed a few moments later, surveying the tray of letters before her. TEVSCLC. Hmm. What could she do with that? She re-arranged the letters experimentally. LET? No, she frowned. VET? Surely she could come up with something better to start off the game, at least. She shifted the letters around again. CELT? She started to lift the tiles from her tray, but then thought better of it. The V would give her more points, and it would get one of the more difficult to play letters off of her tray.

"Vest?" Henry said, tilting his head to read the word from where he sat. "Good job, Mom."

"Thanks. Who's keeping score?"

"I will," her son volunteered, retrieving a pad of paper and pencil from the game box. He scribbled on the paper for a few moments. "Killian, it's your turn."

Her boyfriend peered down at the tray of letters before him, his face a mask of concentration. Emma watched him, bemused. He glanced at the board from time to time, but made no move whatsoever to re-arrange any of his tiles. The corners of his mouth twitched suddenly, and he looked at Emma. He picked up one of the tiles and leaned forward to place it on the board.

 _R_ , she noted, watching him place it with one space empty between it and the V. Killian plucked another letter from his tray and placed it between the R and the V.

 _A_ , she thought.  _RAV_.  _Rave? Raven?_

He placed an I on the other side of the V.

 _RAVI_ , she spelled out to herself, trying to anticipate the word he'd chosen to play.  _Raving? Ravioli?_ She almost laughed at herself. Did he even know what ravioli was? Well, maybe she'd have to make it for him sometime soon. With her mother's help. She was mostly useless in the kitchen. Thank God Killian was learning to cook, so they could eat a decent meal once in a while.

An S joined the conglomeration of letters next, and she frowned.  _Oh no_ , she thought with trepidation,  _he's going to spell some old-fashioned word and we'll have to challenge him on it_. She doubted he would take that well, particularly since he was the owner of scores of books just as old or even older than he was. Emma had no doubt he'd put those books to use in proving his argument, but would those words appear in a modern dictionary? If they did, would the spelling even be the same? Word challenges with Killian were a headache she was not looking forward to in the slightest.

H. Killian placed the last letter on the board and sat back in his chair with a smirk. "Well," he said, eyeing Emma, "how many points do I get?"

Emma stared at the letters. RAVISH.  _Son of a bitch_ , she thought, glaring at him over her son's head. "You did not just play that." She took it back. She took it all back. Playing this game with him was a bad idea.

"Mom, what's 'ravish'?" Henry sounded out the word. He looked up at her expectantly.

A  _very_  bad idea. "Yes, _Killian_ ," she emphasized, narrowing her eyes still further, "please explain that word you just played to my son."

Henry's gaze swung over to the pirate. Killian didn't even have the decency to look guilty. "It's a fancy word for kidnapping," he supplied with aplomb.

 _That's putting it mildly_ , she snorted to herself. Disney-fied, even.

"Your turn," she told her son, leveling a look at her boyfriend that told him he was going to hear about this later.

He had the audacity to wink back at her in reply.

She turned away with a huff, shaking her head. Henry placed three letters on the board, rearranging them against her own word until they spelled SANG. He tallied up the points, legs swinging back and forth underneath the table. Emma smiled at the now familiar habit, for it meant he was happy, and then turned her attention to the tray of letters before her.

LCEANXC. Dammit, she thought. Why did she always draw the impossible letters out of the bag? What the hell was she going to do with that X? Muttering to herself, she began to re-arrange the letters. After a lot of creative shuffling and a great deal of irritated muttering, Emma finally placed her letters on the board, connecting them to the R in Killian's word.

"Earn," Henry read. "Four points."

"Best I could come up with that was playable," she sighed. "Your turn," she told her boyfriend, giving him a warning look.

He placed two letters on the board without hesitation, apparently having planned out his best move in advance. EAT, she read to herself. Well, that wasn't so bad, she decided with a measure of relief.

But it wasn't until after Killian had also played WET and LICK on his next two turns that she began to grow suspicious.

"I'm going to get more food," she bit out, picking up the near-empty platter of snacks. "Killian, would you like to help me?" she said, shooting him a glare that clearly communicated he had absolutely no choice whatsoever in the matter.

"Of course, darling."

She spun on her heel and marched through the kitchen toward the fridge. She yanked the door open and removed a block of cheese and some salami.

"We'll just be a few moments, Henry," she heard Killian say.

"What. The. Hell. Are. You. Doing?" she demanded, punctuating her point by poking him in the chest repeatedly as he appeared behind her at last.

"I have no idea what you mean, love," he said, just a shade too innocently.

"Right," she snorted. "We both know what you're doing out there, Killian."

He stepped closer to her, dipping his head toward hers. "Is that so?" he breathed as she sliced more salami. "Enlighten the old pirate, love."

"Stop turning a simple board game into some weird sexual foreplay," she hissed, turning her attention to a block of cheese.

He leaned over, kissing her on the neck, just behind her ear. She shivered, her irritation lessening slightly. Damn pirate, knowing all her buttons. "As you say, love...luck of the draw," he whispered.

"Uh-huh." She laid the knife down. "Let me tell, you buddy, you are just  _damn_  lucky Henry hasn't figured it out."

Fingertips ghosted across her neck, underneath her hair, then down her shoulder, skimming dangerously close to the curve of her breast as it travelled to her waist. His arm encircled her, and he pulled her forward. "I admit nothing." He smiled when she opened her mouth to reply. "But," he said, " _if_  I were up to something," he said, "I would reassure you that Henry won't figure it out. So long as you were to stop glaring daggers at me every turn."

He stepped away, taking the warmth of his body with him. He picked up a package of crackers and placed a few handfuls on the platter, arranging them in a haphazard fashion. "Don't be long, love," he said with a sly smile before he returned to Henry, platter in hand.

Cursing to herself, Emma reached into the liquor cabinet for the bottle of tequila in there. She sneaked a few sips and placed it back on the shelf. She had a feeling she'd need it.

The remainder of the game progressed in a similar fashion as before, with Hook placing as many sexually suggestive entendres on the board as his letters would allow him. Emma did her best not to glare. Hell, she stopped looking at him altogether, after a while. Because it was damn near impossible not to reach over and wring his neck for the things he was making her think and feel with her son sitting next to her during an innocent-well, what was supposed to be, anyway-board game.

She had damn near flipped her lid despite all the control she struggled to maintain, however, when Killian placed a number of letters in his hand and began rearranging them to connect with a word already in play. O. OR. He slid a G into place next to the A that was already there. ORGA-

She shot him a murderous look.

He grinned, placing his last letter on the board. N.

ORGAN? She blinked several times and looked over at her boyfriend again.

He shrugged with a smirk, as if to say,  _Why, love? What were_ you _thinking?_

Ugh. Emma clenched her fists together underneath the table. She was going to kill him later. Absolutely kill him. And then they'd have to call her own father in to arrest her, and the sordid story would be splattered across the front page news the next morning. And Regina and Neal would be so damn smug about it all-

"Your turn, love," Killian's voice broke into her thoughts. He nodded at her sparsely-filled tray.

Emma glanced down at it glumly. There really wasn't a hell of a lot she could do at this point. All the letters had been drawn from the bag already, and she didn't see how she could possibly play X, Q, or Z at this point in the game, particularly as crowded as the board was. "Skip," she said after several moments.

Killian considered the two letters left on his tray. "I'll have to skip as well," he said with a distasteful expression. "Henry?"

Her son placed his last three letters on the board. "Yes!" he exclaimed, eyes shining with excitement. "I won!" Emma leaned over to peruse the pad of paper. Sure enough, Henry's score totaled to a number just slightly higher than Killian's. "Congratulations," she told him. "Remember the rule: Winner picks up."

"I know, I know," he said dismissively, already well on his way to picking up the game pieces.

"I still don't understand," Killian told her as they walked to the living room. "Why does the winner pick up?"

"To keep his or her ego in check," she said, flopping onto the couch. "There was some fierce competitiveness at the orphanage sometimes, with the losers sometimes throwing games or chairs at the winner."

"And were you on the receiving end of this tantrum-throwing?" he asked with a dark look.

"No," she shrugged. "No one ever asked me to play. Probably just as well, all things considered. But it still sucked, not being chosen."

He frowned, sympathy reflected in his eyes. "Aye."

"Anyway, I just don't want that to happen with our kids, you know?" He smiled, eyes lighting up at the little mention of children that had slipped out before she realized it. Emma rushed on, uncomfortable, despite the very frank talk they had had about the subject not long ago, "I mean, no one likes a sore loser, but a smug winner is worse."

"Yes." Killian looked as if he wanted to say something more, but Henry appeared, walking into the living room with the game tucked under one arm.

"Hey, kid," Emma said, glancing at the mantel clock, "it's almost eleven. Better get some sleep. You're meeting your dad for breakfast at Granny's tomorrow, so he can take you to Regina's, remember?"

"I remember, I remember," her son sighed with reluctance, placing the game back on the shelf.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just-I haven't packed yet-"

"I'll help," Killian interposed smoothly. "I'll be up early tomorrow, anyway."

She blinked at her boyfriend. "You will?"

"I'm meeting Eric at the docks. He's agreed to help me with some of the repairs on the Jolly Roger."

"Cool!" Henry grinned, his face lighting up. "Can I help after school, Killian? Can I, Mom?"

She glanced at her boyfriend.

"Sure, lad. I can always use a good crewman to sand or polish."

"Awesome! Good night, Mom, goodnight Killian!" her son called over his shoulder, practically bouncing down the hall to his bedroom.

"So," Emma said after Henry's door clicked shut, "you and Eric working on the Jolly Roger together? I, ah, didn't know you two were that...close."

He snorted. "We're not. Frankly, His Highness irritates me. But he has sailed extensively, and he knows his way around a ship and the sea. Which is far more experience than many of the other dock workers have. And while I can make the repairs myself, some of them will be far easier to manage with another crewman to help."

And though he tried hard to be subtle about it, Emma didn't miss the quick glance that he cast at his left arm, bereft for centuries of the hand that should have been there.

"You know," she said after several quiet moments, "don't think that I've forgotten about that stunt you pulled during the game tonight." Killian's eyes lit with amusement, and he smirked, draping his left arm around her with a casual air. "You're still in trouble, you know."

"Oh, darling, that's what I like about you best," he said, shifting closer to her. "Such feistiness," he purred in her ear.

Emma clamped her eyes shut, trying her damnedest to ignore the rush of hormones. Goddamned sexy-as-hell whisper. " _Not_  so fast, pirate," she chided, pushing him away gently with one hand. He blinked at her in surprise, and Emma grew more irritated. Did he really just think that he could use sex to get out of everything? "You want to tell me what that was all about?"

He leaned back, eyeing her speculatively. "The lad said you hated the game. I just thought you might enjoy it better if I...improved upon it. I know you didn't want to play." His expression grew serious. "I know I make it difficult to enjoy these game nights. Either I manage to annoy everyone somehow, or I don't understand the rules... or I understand them all too well and no one wants to play me again-"

"Wait, wait, wait." She held up a hand, interrupting him. "That's what this was about? That's why you...improved the game in there?" she said, borrowing his term for lack of a better one at the moment. He gave a short nod. Her eyes narrowed. "Did you let Henry win tonight?"

Killian shifted on the couch, extracting his gaze from hers. His silence spoke volumes.

"I see." She inhaled deeply. It was sweet, really, that he cared enough for her son to sacrifice his own pride and let him win the game.

He shrugged, still gazing intently at the carpet. "The lad said he wanted to win."

"Well, who doesn't?" she laughed. She reached across his lap and laced her fingers through his own. "Thank you," she said sincerely. "But you don't have to do that. I mean, it's sweet and all, but he's thirteen, not five. You don't have to throw a game or...improve it...just so people don't get upset with you. That's cheating, Killian, even if you don't win. Bad form." He winced, eyes shifting away again, an embarrassed look on his face.

"Look," she continued, "there's a learning curve with all of this. I'm sorry if we haven't been as patient with you as we should have. You're part of our family, Killian. I don't want you to feel like a hindrance or that you aren't welcome in our family activities. I want you here, and so does Henry. That's why I asked you to live with us. I just...I forget sometimes how overwhelming it must be to encounter so many new things." She leaned over and pressed her lips to the scruff on his cheek. "I'm sorry if we made you feel like a burden."

He turned to look at her, and the vulnerability in his blue eyes made her heart flutter. Emma hesitated for a split second, then asked, "What about what happened after I teased you? What was that about?"

He shrugged, looking faintly embarrassed again. "It's the one game I'm good at," he said, scratching behind one ear. "Or so I always thought. I've never had complaints before." He slanted a questioning gaze at her.

" _Seriously?_ " She heaved an enormous sigh. "You want me to feed your ego?"

"Well, it couldn't hurt," he murmured, the traces of an adorable smirk on his face.

"Fine," she grated. "I am going to say this once and once only, do you hear me?" He nodded. "You'reamazinginbed," she mumbled quickly, the words tumbling over each other in a jumble.

Killian blinked. He leaned toward her, a smug glint in his eyes. "What was that, darling?" he said, tapping his ear. "I'm not quite sure I heard you."

She glared at him. "You're amazing in bed, okay?" she all but growled at him.

He grinned, sitting up just a bit straighter on the couch. Emma rolled her eyes. The arrogance had returned, and it was practically oozing out of every pore, now. He was never going to let her forget this, either. Who was she kidding? He'd remind her of it every chance he got-in deeds, if not in words. The man had a gift for finding loopholes in everything. Why should this be any different?

"There's my feisty Swan again," he murmured, kissing the curve of her neck.

"Yeah, yeah," she muttered. "Cool your jets a minute, buddy. We're not done talking."

"I can multitask," he insisted. "One of my many talents," he said, an edge of laughter in his voice.

She shoved him away, and then he did laugh. "Seriously? Not even five minutes," she huffed. He shrugged, lacing his fingers together behind his head, unapologetic. "Look, I didn't mean to make you feel bad."

"I gathered that during your veiled apology earlier."

"Let me finish," she insisted. "Now that we've established how the sex is-" A self-satisfied grin split his face, and she glowered. Emma decided to take a different tack. "You understand that what we have is more than just sex, right? We have a connection." A short nod. "Then why all this insecurity? Is it just because of the game stuff, or something else?"

He looked thoughtful. "That's part of it," he admitted. "But these past weeks with you, Emma, have been almost too good to be true." He shrugged. "The thought of losing you scares me."

"And I totally compounded that fear with my teasing tonight," she sighed. "Killian, all the sex in the world isn't going to keep us together for the long haul if there's not something stronger beneath it." She rubbed her forehead. A lesson Neal had taught her the hard way. "So stop throwing it at everything when you think there's a problem. You don't need to hit on me just because you're feeling insecure about where you fit in, in this family, or because you're trying to keep me happy." She elbowed him. "Even over a game I don't like. You don't need to do things like that just so I'll have a good time. I have a good time because I'm with you and Henry, even if we're playing a stinky old game I can never get good letters for. No other reason."

"Point taken," he smiled. "But if I want to make the game more interesting?" he inquired with an arch of his brow.

"We'll talk, pirate," she grinned, pulling him toward her and kissing him. "We'll talk."


	4. Deleted Scene #3: The First Fight

"I'm getting a beer," Emma told her mesmerized boyfriend as he stared at the television screen, his eyes tracking the basketball players as they moved down the court, vying for possession of the ball. "You want one?" Killian grunted in response, an Emma rolled her eyes.  _Typical male_ , she thought to herself as she stood up, leaving the very warm and comfortable shelter of Killian's arm. They were all the same, no matter  _what_  realm they came from.

She entered the kitchen, making a beeline for the fridge, her stomach rumbling.  _Hmm_ , she thought,  _maybe I'll grab a bite to eat, too_. She shifted course, heading toward the snack cupboard instead, and pried the door open. Her eyes scanned the goodies within, considering them, and settled on the bag of potato chips.

She reached into the cabinet and removed the clip from the top of the bag, unrolling it. "Dammit, Killian!" she cursed as a whistle tweeted shrilly from the living room. Grumbling, she stomped out to her boyfriend and thrust the bag at him.

He looked up in surprise. "What's this?"

"What does it look like?" she rolled her eyes.

He glanced down at the bag again, as if it were a trick question. "Chips?"

" _No_ ," she disagreed,  _not_  chips. Look inside."

Killian peered into the bag. His eyes widened with understanding. "Oh."

"Oh? That's all you have to say?"

"I thought you might want some?" he tried in a small voice, his expression guilty.

"No!" she exploded. "I do not want to eat a small handful of tiny crumbs!" She threw her hands up in the air. "Killian, we've been over this multiple times! Either finish what's left, or throw the bag away! Stop putting bits of food back in the cupboard to fool me!"

"Emma, don't you think you're overreacting a bit?"

"I am not overreacting!" she shouted. "Do you know how irritating it is to  _see_  something in the snack cupboard, get a craving for it, and when you open up the bag, there's nothing much left to eat?!"

"Ah,  _noooo_ ," he admitted, his expression becoming even guiltier.

"Of course not!" she charged on, "because Henry and I are considerate enough to only put stuff back in the cabinet if there's something left worth eating!"

"Love," he soothed, "it's just a bag of chips. Irritating, certainly," he admitted, "but nothing to get so worked up about." His expression changed suddenly, his eyes narrowing, "Love, are you-"

" _Don't_  say it!" she barked, holding up a hand. " _No_ , for the love of God, I am  _not_  pregnant or PMSing. What the hell is it with you men and your double fucking standards? Women are never allowed to be angry unless they're hormonal, is that it?"

"No," he said quickly, "I just thought it might be worth consideration."

"Well, it's not!"

His expression darkened. "In that case, love, I'd like to point out that you're behaving very childishly. It's not as if I blow up at you over all your irritating habits."

" _What_  irritating habits?" she shot back. "You've never mentioned them to me!"

"On the contrary, love," he argued calmly. "You just weren't listening."

"Give me an example," she challenged, putting her hands on her hips.

"You never put the cap back on the toothpaste. It oozes out all over the counter, making a bloody mess, and it just sits there unless I clean it up."

"I'll get to it when I clean the bathroom!" she protested.

"Emma, I'm not waiting a whole bloody week for you to clean it up when it shouldn't even be there in the first place," he replied, his voice rising just a little. "If you would just put the cap back on, there wouldn't be a mess on the counter."

"Seriously? Captain-freaking-Hook cares about a little toothpaste on the counter?"

"And that's another thing," he said more forcefully, "stop calling me 'Hook' every time you're mad at me or want to push me away!"

"I don't do that!"

"Yes," he argued through clenched teeth, "you do. Stop it."

"Hook-" Emma clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. "Oh my God," she breathed, her voice muffled and distorted by her fingers, "I  _do_."

"See?" His expression managed to be both smug and annoyed at the same time. The bastard.

She lowered her hand. "Oh, shut up, Mr. I-drink-loud-enough-to-wake-the-fucking-dead!"

"I'm thirsty!"

"That doesn't mean you have to gulp everything down like you've never had a drink before in your whole fucking life!"

"You never complained before, back in Neverland!"

"It was one sip during a handful of drinks! How the hell was I supposed to notice?! Besides, it's not like we were busy trying to find my son or hide from Pan or anything!"

"You know," he began with a shake of his head, "you've got a lot of bloody nerve complaining about how loud I drink when you have all the table manners of a ravenous wild beast!"

Her mouth fell open. "What did you just say to me?!"

"You bloody well heard me!"

Emma stalked over to the hall closet and yanked open the door. She ripped her red leather coat off the hangar, snapping the plastic in two. It fell to the floor with a clatter.

"Where the bloody hell do you think you're going?"

"Out for some air." Emma grabbed her purse and slung it over one shoulder.

"Oh, come on, love, over a little fight?"

Her head snapped up and she glared at him. "So now I'm overreacting again, is that it?"

"A bit, yes."

"Wrong answer,  _Hook_ ," she sneered, stomping toward the front door. "Wrong damn answer." Emma threw open the door and stepped onto the front porch, slamming the door shut behind her. She yanked her car keys out of her pocket and started toward her yellow bug before she thought better of it. Stowing the keys in her pocket again, Emma set off across Storybrooke toward the town's bar. A good stiff drink sounded like a good idea right about now. Maybe a few stiff drinks.

As long as it wasn't rum. Anything but rum.

* * *

"I thought I might find you here."

Emma looked up from the drink she'd been nursing-for how long, she didn't know. At first, in the fresh heat of her anger, she'd finished them off quickly. But as the evening wore on and reality set in, Emma had spent a hell of a lot more time replaying the fight with Killian in her head than drinking.

"What do you want David?" she slurred unhappily. "Did Hook send you to find me?"

"Not exactly. Your mother did. She became worried when Killian called looking for you a few hours ago. Said you weren't picking up your phone when he called. He's worried, too."

Emma sneered, staring down at the remnants of her drink. "If he cares so much about me, why didn't he come looking for me himself? Why send you?" She picked up her glass and downed the last dregs of the alcohol.

David swung himself up onto the bar stool next to her with a sigh. "Henry came over. I guess he was looking for some spelling homework he left at your house the other day, and it took them so long to find it, Regina just let him stay overnight."

Emma blinked, trying to process his words and make sense of what her father had said. He'd helped Henry find his homework? Stayed with her son to watch over him instead of returning him to Regina so he could chase Emma down?  _Oh, God_ , Emma groaned to herself,  _I've really fucked up_.

David patted her on the shoulder. "It's nothing that can't be fixed."

She stared at him in confusion, before it dawned on her that she'd spoken her last thought out loud. "We were screaming at each other," she confessed. "Over such stupid things. It's like-like we never really knew each other at all. I thought things were going so  _well_ , that we were really meant to be, but it just fell apart. We're incompatible, we can't live together for shit-"

"Emma," her father said, "slow down. Take a deep breath." He watched her, clear blue eyes burning with compassion as she finally took a shuddering breath. "You had a fight. Fights are normal. Every relationship has them. And if you're with someone long enough, especially someone you live with, eventually you are bound to get on each other's nerves and irritate each other."

"Really?" She looked at him, blinking back tears, the stirrings of hope re-forming in her.

"Yes, really. After Snow and I married and we experienced our first lull in our war against Regina, we had an enormous fight over how she hangs my shirts with only one button fastened. I like them all buttoned." He grinned. "You would have thought I'd just tried to poison her with one of Regina's apples, the way she reacted when I brought it up. And by the end of it, we were slinging all kinds of crazy accusations at each other, like how she's always bringing home every sick or injured or stray animal she finds, turning our house into a smelly, noisy menagerie, or how I always track mud across the clean floors." He smiled. "What you're experiencing with Killian is normal, sweetheart. And despite what it feels like right now, it's actually a sign that your relationship is growing."

"That doesn't make any sense at all," she scoffed.

"No? You're learning to be honest with each other, aren't you? Growing comfortable enough with each other to show your flaws? The question now is whether you can learn to accept each other with those flaws."

"Yeah," she slumped on her stool with a defeated sigh. "You're right. I just...I don't understand why he keeps doing these things over and over again. It's like he's not listening. He just doesn't learn."

"Sometimes people need to hear things several times before they sink in. People don't change overnight, Emma. And we have to learn to compromise. Meet in the middle. It can't just be us expecting the other person to change without putting forth the effort to change ourselves."

"Did you and mom learn to compromise about your shirts or her animals?"

He laughed softly. "Sort of. I decided to hang my own shirts, and Snow set up her own little outdoor clinic for the animals." He shrugged. "Of course, now that we're in Storybrooke, she takes them to the vet clinic and volunteers there a few hours a week. But the point is, neither of us had to stop being who we were. We just learned to be ourselves in a new way that allowed your mother and I to be a better 'us.' A 'we" instead of two "I's" trying to live out separate lives and cling to old ways. The truth is, you just can't continue operate in quite the same way as a couple as you did when you were single. It won't work; not if you want the relationship to survive. There's a whole other person to consider, with their own thoughts and feelings about everything."

"God," she groaned. "I didn't just fuck up. I fucked up  _royally_."

He chuckled. "Well, you are a princess, sweetheart. And we Charmings never do anything by half measures."

* * *

A single lamp was burning in the living room when Emma finally returned home, but Killian was nowhere in sight. She locked the front door, set the deadbolt, and put the chain in place before padding out to the kitchen to toss her empty coffee cup in the trash. Her father had insisted on sobering her up a bit before seeing her home, and as a result Emma was now incredibly wired, almost jittery. Sleep wasn't going to happen any time soon, that was for certain.

Kicking off her shoes by the door, Emma walked down the hallway and quietly opened Henry's door to peep in on him. The familiar snore-snort of her slumbering son filled her ears and she smiled, pulling the door closed with a soft click. Emma turned away and pushed the door open to the bedroom she shared with Killian. The pirate was curled on his side, his hand clutching one end of the pillow that he was lying on, mouth hanging slightly open as he slept. She smiled, pulling her jacket off, and laid it aside.

Emma climbed into the bed behind him and slipped her arms around him, inhaling the familiar and comforting scent of him: rum, leather, and salt. The movement caused him to stir, and Killian twisted around in her arms. "Swan?" he croaked hoarsely, his voice still thick with sleep. He scrubbed at his eyes as if he couldn't believe that she was there.

"Yeah, it's me," she told him, tracing his jaw line with one hand. "I'm really sorry. I lost my temper and screwed everything up."

"It takes two to fight," he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I'm sorry, too." He twirled a lock of her hair in his hand. A familiar and very welcome glint entered his eyes. He shifted in the bed, pressing her down against the mattress. "Let me show you how sorry," he breathed, leaning over her. Killian pressed a trail of kisses down her neck, his hand caressing her breast through the fabric of her shirt.

Emma grinned. Make up sex. She'd heard of it, but never experienced it.

"I'd like nothing better, pirate." She rolled them over and straddled his waist. "I've got a few things to show you, too."

They made up with abandon, several times throughout the night. And if, in the morning, she carefully screwed the cap back on the toothpaste and wiped the counters, and two bags of potato chips mysteriously appeared on the kitchen table with bows sticking to them, well, that might just be coincidence.

Or maybe not.


	5. Deleted Scene #4: Driving Each Other To Distraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well, um, this update was supposed to be a double date between Captain Swan and Frankenwolf, but my inspiration fairy decided to steer this in a very different, very smutty direction instead, and there was just no way to salvage this update and steer it back to where I wanted the date chapter to go. So rather than try to transition from smutty to serious, I decided to just write the double date in the next deleted scene instead. So consider this a rather smutty interlude to the next update!

Emma wound the curling iron around one last lock of hair, mentally cataloging the contents of her closet while she stood in front of the bathroom mirror. Killian sighed from the bedroom, and Emma leaned back slightly to peer around the door frame. Her boyfriend sat on the edge of the bed they shared, struggling to button the sleeve of a dark blue dress shirt over his prosthetic hand. His face scrunched up in the most adorable way as he concentrated on the task, and Emma felt quite tempted to phone Ruby and cancel tonight's dinner. The knowledge that Ruby would use the cancellation against her while simultaneously prying for details about Killian in the sack gave her enough pause, however, that she didn't allow her hormones to take over completely.

"Need help?" she offered, unwinding her hair from the curling iron. Emma arranged the curl and pinned it into place. Unplugging the hot iron, she left the device to cool off on the counter while she dressed for the evening.

Killian looked up as she walked into the bedroom. His face went comically slack as he took in the lacy black bra and garter set that she wore. The tip of his tongue swiped across his lower lip, while hungry eyes caressed her from head to toe. Emma shivered under his gaze, as he stood up from the bed, his struggle with the wrist cuff long forgotten. "I think the better question," he murmured into her neck, stepping closer to her, "is whether  _you_  would like a hand, love." Warm fingers slipped between her thighs, pushing aside her underwear, and slid into the wetness that had pooled there.

Emma gasped, arching her back in response, and Killian chuckled, wrapping his other arm around her waist to steady her. Cursing her body's natural response to this man, Emma tried to reason with him. And, not incidentally, herself.

"Killian, we can't," she murmured, trying unsuccessfully to put some real force behind her words as he lowered himself to his knees. He gripped her waist, the heated press of his natural hand an arousing contrast to the cooler grasp of his prosthesis. Emma screwed her eyes shut and swallowed with difficulty, wanting nothing more than to allow him to pleasure every inch of her with both those hands, but common sense compelled her to rein in her desires. "Killian, we have to meet Ruby and Victor at the restaurant in an hour-"

She gasped as a finger slipped inside of her and began stroking in a lazy fashion. Damn him. He knew that drove her crazy, knew it was damn near impossible to  _think_  when he did that, much less-

A second finger joined the first, stroking and plunging with an almost careless rhythm. "Killian," she half moaned, half sobbed, as the tension in her body coiled tighter and tighter, the fire of pleasure blazing white-hot between her thighs, "stop."

He paused, peering up at her with a mixture of skepticism, arousal, and amusement. He cocked his head to the side. "Is that really what you want, darling?" A smirk hovered at the corners of his mouth. "Say the word, Emma, and I'll withdraw if you wish it."

Damn him. The cocky bastard knew very well that she didn't truly want him to stop. But here he was, being a gentleman, giving her the opportunity to call it off, no matter how much he wanted her-or how much she clearly wanted him, at the moment.

"No," she choked out, "I want you." He grinned, adding a third finger, and resumed his ministrations. "But dinner-"

"Mmm," he said, licking his lips, those impossibly blue eyes riveted on the action of his fingers, "remind me why we must go, again?"

"V-victor invited us," she gasped as her boyfriend applied his mouth to the sensitive nub of her flesh, flicking his tongue across it in quick little strokes that were in direct contrast to the languid motions of his fingers. Emma scrabbled to steady herself against the wall, her knees weakening. Too much. It was too damn much-

She came hard, her walls clenching and releasing in a furious pattern, eliciting a throaty, very drawn out scream of pleasure from her. Killian's laughter vibrated against her flesh, adding to her pleasure and drawing her orgasm out further still.

"Fucking pirate," she growled at him weakly as he laid her on the bed after the last ripples of pleasure ceased.

"Not just yet," he grinned, pressing the prominent bulge of his black trousers against the thin scrap of material that covered her sex. "But you will, darling," he promised, removing her underwear with a grin, and then taking the strap of her bra between his teeth. He peeled it down her shoulder with a wink. He removed the other strap of her undergarment and reached underneath her to unclasp it. He pulled it off her with a heated grin. "You will."

Stroking a breast, he circled the nipple with his thumb and lowered his mouth onto the nipple of the other one, sucking and then gently biting down in the way that drove them both crazy with desire. Emma's fingers fumbled, trying to unfasten all the buttons of his shirt at once, which sent them both into a fit of soft laughter. "So eager," he teased, "for a woman who tried to convince me dinner was a more pressing matter, earlier."

"Shut up," she growled, peeling his shirt down his shoulders at last. Killian obliged her efforts and shook the shirt free, muttering something about the fortuitousness of not buttoning the wrist cuffs after all. The shirt flew to the floor, destination unseen, and Emma pressed her hands against Killian's chest. She trailed her fingers through the dark hair that downed the hard planes of his chest, humming with appreciation. He leaned over her, sighing into her neck as she wrapped her arms around his broad, bare shoulders.

"You're more gorgeous every time we make love, sweetheart," he said with quiet sincerity, after a long, heady kiss."Every inch of you rosy with arousal..." He trailed a line of kisses from the crevice between her breasts to her navel.

Emma responded by reaching for his trousers. She quickly unbuckled his belt and shimmied the fabric down his well-muscled thighs. She arched an eyebrow at the sight that greeted her. "Going commando tonight, were we?" she managed in a breathy tone.

"Don't you remember our first date?" he chuckled smugly. "You wore that scrap of a red dress, and absolutely nothing else besides-"

Emma pushed him onto his back with a grin, pinning him down. "Oh, I remember," she purred. "It's difficult to forget your date looking as if he'd just stuck finger in the electrical outlet, when he cops a feel under the table and realizes you're not wearing panties."

"Gods, you were wet," he sighed. "And we had to sit through the whole rest of the damn dinner before we could pay the bill and leave."

"So you thought to torture me the same way tonight?" She shifted on top of him and stroked his hip with one hand.

"Well, we would certainly have a good time at dinner," he grinned at her.

Emma wrapped her hand around the length of him. He inhaled sharply, his muscles tensing all over. "I can show you a good time now," she smirked, stroking playfully. He felt good beneath her fingertips, like silk wrapped around steel, and suddenly all Emma wanted was him inside her mouth, filling her completely.

She pushed her mouth over the length of him, and he jerked once in response, his hands tangling in her hair moments later as she started to pleasure him. "Yes," he sighed, "Gods, yes. That feels so good, Emma." Hollowing out her cheeks in a fit of impishness, Emma increased the suction, and he cried out in pleasure. "Fuck, lass," he panted. "You give such delicious head."

But Killian wasn't the only one turned on by her efforts. The combination of his moans and breathy encouragements, combined with the delicious taste of him, the feel of his hardness in her mouth, sent another orgasm ripping through Emma. Her mouth slackened on him as it overwhelmed her, and Killian sat up, pulling her into his arms, laughing and teasing her about his charms never having that effect on a woman before.

Emma would have glared, if she could have managed it. Stupid smug bastard.

Rolling her onto her back, Killian leaned over her, still smirking. "Let me finish you off, darling." She made some garbled reply about not having anything left to finish off, and he arched an eyebrow. "That a challenge, love?" Without waiting for a reply, he began his campaign to prove her utterly wrong. At first, Emma's oversensitive skin responded to his efforts by signaling a ticklish sensation. Ignoring her giggles, Killian persistently administered his attentions, sucking, licking, nibbling, and teasing at will over different parts of her body, until he coaxed the first sharp intake of breath from her. Eyes gleaming with satisfaction, he increased his efforts with renewed fervor, and after a time Emma was singing with wordless cries beneath him, fingernails raking against his back, scraping the smooth skin raw as she writhed with the need for release again.

"Dammit Killian!" she panted at him, arching her hips upward, "You win!"

"What's that, love?" he teased. "I didn't quite hear you..."

"Get in me  _now_ , dammit!" she whined, "Before I explode!"

"Now, darling," he chided, lowering his body until it was nearly flush with hers, the tip of his shaft teasing at her entrance, "it's bad form to give your captain orders."

"If the captain wants to sail anywhere tonight, he goddamn well better listen when I give him the damn coordinates!" she retorted.

His laughter boomed throughout the bedroom, and he smiled down at her, his blue eyes shining with love and admiration. "All right, then, love." He pushed into her with one hard thrust. "Lead the way," he whispered in her ear, "if you can seize control of this ship."

What followed next was nothing less than a very primal and enthusiastic match for control, each of them trying to outdo the other with each swivel of the hips or change of position, their thrusts desperate and rough, bodies slicked with sweat from their exertions. And when it proved too much for them at last, and they came hard, neither one of them could have rightly said who had bested whom. (But that didn't stop them from bickering about it playfully afterward.)

"Ruby's going to know exactly what we were up to, you know," Emma informed him some time later as they set about retrieving their discarded garments. She slipped into the bathroom. Eyeing wild tangle of her curls, she attempted in vain to set her hair to rights again. Her efforts yielded moderate success at best, and Emma gave up after a few moments. "She'll smell it all over us, with that damn wolf nose of hers."

"Let her be envious, then, darling," he smirked, padding up behind her, "and drive herself crazy wondering about the details all evening."

"You're evil," she snorted in amusement.

"No, Emma," he murmured, slipping his arms around her waist from behind, "I'm yours."


	6. Deleted Scene #5: Love Is Strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Just a couple of things to be aware of: First, the deleted scenes are starting to wind down, which means this fic will be officially finished in another couple of chapters, maybe three at most, and then I can write the next fic in this series. Second, the next deleted scene is going to be quite painful, and some events and themes from some of the previous deleted scenes will end up being more significant than they first appeared. You have been forewarned.

"Hi," Emma said breathlessly as she sat down across from Ruby. "Sorry we're late." Killian slid into the booth next to her, absently curling his left arm around her waist.

"Hey," Ruby greeted them with a wide smile. "I got your message. Glad you two could make it. Seems you've been in high demand lately, Sheriff." She peered over at Killian with a knowing smirk.

Emma felt her face heat up at the subtle jab. She didn't need to look over at her boyfriend to sense the smug satisfaction rolling off of him. She quickly picked up her menu. "Uh, yeah. Let's order. I'm starving."

 _I bet_ , Ruby's laughing eyes seemed to say when Emma dared to glance up from the menu. She suppressed a groan. Damn that wolf nose of Ruby. She should have known the extra perfume wouldn't make a damn bit of difference. She dreaded the inevitable trip to the restroom that Ruby would insist upon, where she would corner Emma and pump her for information as sure as the sun rose each morning.

Victor, bless him, managed to distract Ruby by suggesting they order a bottle of wine, and the wolf-woman spent the next ten minutes arguing vintages with Killian. Relieved, Emma laid the menu down on the table. Although she and Killian had gotten to know the doctor socially over the last several months, Ruby and Victor being only two of the very few people whom had supported their relationship from the start (Ruby being indirectly for bringing Emma together with Killian in the first place), Emma had never formed a particularly close bond with Victor. Knowing that her mother had slept with him during the curse added a layer of awkwardness to their friendship that Emma found difficult to overcome, and she worried sometimes that the amalgamation of Victor's pre- and post-curse personalities might spell heartache for Ruby down the line. Watching the way Victor gazed at Ruby with an affection that was practically adoration, however, Emma finally laid her worries to rest. She had seen the same the look in Killian's eyes countless times before, and she had no doubt as to its meaning.

Feeling a little guilty that she hadn't given Victor the same benefit of the doubt that he and Ruby had given Killian, Emma took a sip of her drink. An idea formed in her mind, and when Ruby gave her the look, signaling that it was time to retreat to the restroom to be grilled, Emma offered little resistance. She excused herself quietly, brushing against Killian, who stood up to let her exit the booth, and followed Ruby to the ladies' room.

"All right, spill!" Ruby demanded, after checking to make certain they were alone. "I want details!"

She feigned innocence as she rummaged around in her purse. "About what?"

Ruby rolled her eyes. "Please! I can smell him all over you. And hey, I'm a werewolf dating a mad scientist. No judgment from this corner. But you positively reek of sex, Emma, no matter what kind of perfume you try to hide it with. At least tell me how it was, after you were late to our double date!"

"If I tell you, " Emma said slowly, "I want the dirt on you and Victor."

Ruby issued her a confused look. "But I always tell you-"

"Not that kind of dirt," she interrupted. "I mean, what's the story with you and Victor? I've seen the way you two have been looking at each other tonight. Are you two getting serious?"

"No. I mean yes. I mean-" She stared at Emma for a moment, flustered. "We're engaged," she said quickly.

"What?" Emma blinked. She glanced at Ruby's left hand, to be certain she had heard correctly. It was bare. "Engaged?"

"Two nights ago. He's taking me to pick out my ring this weekend." She smiled. "Thank God! He has terrible taste in jewelry."

Killian's wasn't so bad, Emma reflected absently, fingering the emerald necklace that she wore. It was a little surprising, considering that he was a pirate. She would have expected his tastes to run to more gaudy pieces, especially considering some of the rings she had seen him wear. But the occasional jewelry he had gifted Emma was quite different. Certainly, it was nothing like the type of jewelry Milah seemed to wear in the sketches she had seen of Killian's deceased lover.

Curious, she'd questioned him about it, once.

_"Would you really enjoy such elaborate jewelry, love?" he asked, with an arch of his brow. "I never took you for the type."_

_"Well-no, not really," she admitted._

_"Well, that's why I don't give them to you," he said, drawing her into an embrace. He kissed her gently, and then chuckled. "A princess who doesn't like jewels, dating a pirate who could give her all the jewels she ever wanted. Who would have thought?"_

"I-congratulations!" Emma recovered, sweeping her best friend into a hug. "Wait-how's Granny taking it?" she asked, after they pulled apart.

"You know Granny," Ruby said with a roll of her eyes. "She acts like she's tolerating Victor for my sake, but sarcastic comments aside, I've seen them laughing together about something or other when Victor comes in sometimes to pick up an order from the diner. I don't think she's as averse to the engagement as she pretends." She slipped her hands into Emma's. "Listen, don't let on that I told you yet," she begged. "Victor wanted to tell you guys together over dessert tonight."

"All right," Emma said, a little confused. "If it means that much to you-"

"Thanks, you're a doll!" Ruby exclaimed happily, wrapping her in a bone-crushing hug. "Now," she said in a business-like tone, releasing Emma, "I want  _all_  the down and dirty details! You  _promised_!"

* * *

After Emma had finally divulged enough "dirt," as Ruby loved to term it, regarding the interesting turn her evening had taken earlier, the girls returned to join their dates. Victor and Killian welcomed them back with warm smiles, and promptly poured them some of the wine that had arrived at the table in their absence. Emma accepted her glass with a smile, catching Killian's blue-eyed gaze for one heart-pounding moment.  _Could that be us, in the not too distant future?_  she wondered, thinking of Ruby and Victor's engagement.  _Am I ready yet? Are we ready yet?_

"Something on your mind, love?" her boyfriend murmured into her ear.

Emma looked away quickly, taking a sip of her wine. Darn Killian. As endearing (and occasionally annoying) as it was that he could read her so well, she had promised Ruby that she wouldn't let on about the engagement, so they could announce it over dessert. But Killian was liable to guess the direction of her thoughts if she didn't distract him or change the subject soon.

"Nothing that can't wait," she murmured back to him, giving his left arm a light, reassuring squeeze. Killian raised his eyebrows, but didn't press the point. Emma knew, however, that he would certainly remember to inquire later, and she felt a little nervous, but she didn't know why. It wasn't as if they hadn't discussed the future before. They both knew that the possibility-probability-of marriage was on the table. It was just a matter of deciding to take that step officially.

"I propose a toast," Victor said suddenly, interrupting Emma's thoughts. He raised his wine glass up with a smile.

"To what?" Ruby asked curiously, raising her glass as well. Killian and Emma followed suit.

"To good friends," Victor answered, "with whom I couldn't be more pleased to be celebrating our new engagement tonight."

Killian chuckled.

"Wh-what?" Ruby faltered, staring at her fiancé.

"Oh, come on, darling," Victor chuckled, his eyes sparkling with adoration and amusement, "you and Emma were gone a rather long time, even by your normal standards. And I  _know_  you."

"Are you saying I have a big mouth?" Ruby said indignantly.

"The better to kiss me with," Victor replied with an irreverent wink that made Ruby flush a deep crimson. Emma studied her best friend, fascinated. It wasn't often-well, ever-that she saw anyone elicit that kind of reaction from Ruby. "Come on, don't be mad; I'm not. I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner. You've been bursting at the seams to tell someone besides Granny, ever since it happened."

"This is all a game to you, isn't it?" she grumbled.

"More like an experiment," he teased. Ruby rolled her eyes. "All right, how about this? Dessert seemed like the ideal time to me, but the timing isn't all that important, in the end; what's important is that we are lucky enough to have each other, and two good friends to share our news with, besides."

Ruby leaned forward and hugged him fiercely. "You horrible, wonderful man," she whispered with a smile as tears gathered in her eyes. Victor chuckled.

Out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw Killian considering her with a thoughtful expression. Smiling at him, she reached over and squeezed his arm with affection before she raised her own glass of wine again. "To happy endings," she toasted her friends.

* * *

Dinner was a merry affair, filled with laughter, and the conversation moved at lightning speed. By the end of the night, her head still spinning from all of Ruby's chatter about her wedding, Emma felt sorely in need of a stronger drink. "Walk with me to the Rabbit Hole?" she invited her boyfriend, after they waved goodbye to their friends outside of Tony's. "I don't have to go in to work until tomorrow afternoon," she reminded him.

"Worried already, love?" he smirked at her as he offered her his arm.

"I've never been a bridesmaid before," she pointed out. "What if I do something wrong and mess up Ruby's entire wedding? I don't know much about planning this sort of thing."

"I would imagine Snow does, though," he pointed out. "Women of your mother's rank were generally expected to know how to plan any number of social events, in addition to their political duties, back in the Enchanted Forest. That, and she's been through a wedding before, herself, when she married David. Follow her lead in your duties as attendant, if you're uncertain."

"You're right," Emma realized. Her mother was the Matron of Honor, anyway. And knowing Mary-Margaret's enthusiasm for all things associated with True Love, Emma would probably spend more time trying to rein in her more elaborate plans in than anything else. "Thanks. I needed that."

The Rabbit Hole was predictably crowded for such a late hour on Saturday night, but Emma was familiar enough with the establishment by now, thanks to both her job, as well as personal time spent there, to know that the crowd would thin out before long as the early hours of Sunday morning rolled around. Waving at Grumpy and Doc, who sat at one of the small corner tables, nursing large mugs of beer, Emma threaded her way through the bar and finally spotted a little table rather nearer to the large screen television than she would have liked. Shrugging to her boyfriend in resignation, Emma plunked herself down in one of the chairs. Killian joined her, his expression mildly distracted as he stared at the basketball game on the television. Emma smiled to herself in exasperation, and tried to decide what she wanted to drink.

"I'm going to the bar for a scotch," she shouted to her boyfriend over the noise. "You want me to get you something?"

"Rum," he answered, tearing his gaze away from the basketball game. "The real stuff. None of that watered down, flavored swill your father tricked me into drinking."

"Oh honestly," she rolled her eyes with a smirk. "That was months ago. I can't believe you're still bitter about that." Killian grumbled something unintelligible in reply, and Emma grinned to herself a little as she left their table. She couldn't honestly say that she blamed her father for having a little fun at the pirate's expense, after Killian had switched her father's usual cup of Earl Grey tea with some of Snow's Expectant Mother's tea during a visit one afternoon.

"Scotch on the rocks," she told the bartender, and one neat rum."

"Coming right up."

Emma watched absently as the bartender busied herself preparing the two drinks. "Thanks," he said, as she laid her money down on the bar and collected the drinks minutes later. As she turned away, a familiar, hunched-over figure caught her eye. "Neal?" she said in confusion.

He hadn't heard her over the noise, of course, and for a moment Emma considered simply keeping to herself and pretending she had not seen him at all. It wasn't her business what he was doing here, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy. And if she were perfectly honest with herself, she didn't really want to hear more about his problematic relationship with his father, or how his own relationship with Henry was turning out to be rockier than he had anticipated, post-Neverland. All Emma really wanted at the moment was to have a couple of drinks with her boyfriend, and go curl up in bed with him at home.

But-he was Henry's father, and if there was an issue going on that affected her son, she needed to know about it. Unless, of course, it had nothing at all to do with Henry-in which case, Neal might mistake her concern as an overture of friendship that Emma simply wasn't ready to offer yet. Their past was anything but simple, and Emma didn't honestly know if she would ever feel comfortable enough with Neal to be anything more than civil to him for her son's sake.

 _I wonder if this is what Regina felt like when I stayed in Storybrooke to have a part in Henry's life_ , she thought.

Emma had stood staring at her ex, with her conflicted thoughts, a tad too long, apparently, because Neal solved her dilemma for her. "Emma," he acknowledged with a nod as he looked up from his drink and caught her eye. "Sit for a minute?" he finally said, after a short pause, gesturing to a chair across from him.

"Hi," she said. "Just for a minute. Killian's waiting." He nodded. An awkward silence ensued after she sat down, in which she stared at her hands for a minute, folded on the table between the two drinks she'd ordered. "So...I haven't seen you here in a while." He shrugged. "I figured you'd be at Regina's-" She checked her watch. "-sipping wine and watching Turner Classic Movies, or something, now that Henry's asleep."

Neal glanced at her with an uncertain expression, as if he were debating with himself about something. "You don't know, do you?"

"Uh...I'm not sure. What am I supposed to know that I don't?"

He leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "I thought you would have known by now."

"Know what?"

"Regina and I broke up."

Emma stared at him. Whatever she had been expecting to hear, it hadn't been that. As strange as the idea of Regina and Neal had been to her at first, in a strange way it had seemed to work: the man who had seen the dark side of magic and rejected it, with the woman who had once embraced dark magic and was now trying to reform for the sake of her son. Neal and Regina had been good for each other. Or so it had seemed.

"Oh," she said inadequately, feeling a bit like a jerk, although she didn't really know why. "I'm sorry to hear that." And she actually was. Not simply for Henry's sake, but for her own admittedly selfish reasons, since Regina and Neal dating each other had simplified some of the minor complications in Emma's life.

"It was a week ago. She said it wasn't working between us, but she wanted to stay on civil terms for Henry."

"Oh," Emma said again. "Um..."

"Right, Killian," he remembered. "Don't let me keep you." He waved a hand, gesturing that she was free to go, and offered her a crooked, half-hearted smile.

Emma stood up, feeling as if she should say something else, but what else could she say that hadn't already been said? Picking up her drinks, she offered her ex a weak smile of her own and a quiet goodbye, and turned to return to her own table, where Killian was waiting for her. "Emma?" She paused, peering at him over her shoulder. "I really hope it works out for you two."

"Um, thanks." She pasted a smile on her face, and took her leave, feeling somewhat perturbed. Emma had never really thought about whether Regina and Neal's relationship would last in the long run, but the news of their break up had genuinely surprised her. Feeling rattled, she joined Killian again and took a large swallow of her scotch.

"What's wrong, love?" he inquired, after watching her with an intent expression. "Why are you upset?"

"I ran into Neal," she muttered.

"What's that?"

"I ran into Neal," she said, raising her voice.

Killian frowned. "What did he say to you?"

"Not here," she decided with a shake of her head. The last thing Emma wanted to do was shout Neal's business, or her own, all over the bar. Knowing her luck, all the noise would miraculously die down at just the wrong moment.

They finished their drinks a short while later, their conversation sparse and mostly related to the basketball game that was on the television. "All right, Swan," he said, resting his hand on the small of her back as he guided her outside, "you want to tell me what's going on? What did Neal say to you to make you so distressed?"

"Neal and Regina broke up. He said it happened last week. I don't understand. Why didn't Henry say something? I've seen him at least a dozen times over the past week."

Killian issued her a thoughtful look. "Perhaps the lad doesn't know yet."

"Come on, you really think that he wouldn't notice, as much time as Regina and Neal spent together when they dated?"

"Then maybe he wasn't comfortable speaking about it in such public venues," he mused, "or he thought Regina would tell you herself."

Emma snorted. "Regina and I are civil to one another for his sake, but we are hardly buddies. I can't see her volunteering that sort of personal information to me while I'm picking Henry up for our week together."

Killian stopped, laying his hand on her arm. Emma halted, blinking up at him. His blue eyes searched hers. "No," he said, "you're not close to Regina. Or Neal. So what else is bothering you about the end of their courtship? It isn't just Henry, is it?"

"No," she admitted, with reluctance.

"Tell me," he urged gently. "Are you worried Neal might try to interfere in our relationship again, now that we're together?"

"No, no," she shook her head. "Whatever he felt for me is gone. He was really down, Killian, you should have seen him. He looked like he was taking the breakup kind of hard. Regina was the one who broke it off with him."

"Perhaps he's still in shock."

She shrugged. "Maybe. I can't really blame him. As odd of a couple as they seemed at first, they sort of suited each other well, in a twisted kind of way."

Killian tilted his head, and he gazed at her with a knowing expression. "Is that what's bothering you, Swan? You're worried it might happen to us, because people thought we shouldn't be together, at first?"

"Well-maybe. I mean...it could happen, couldn't it? We're talking about marriage, sure, but there's no guarantee, is there?"

"Emma." He wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her closer, resting his forehead against hers. "Regina and Neal's problems, whatever they were, are not ours. And our problems haven't bested us, have they?"

"No," she whispered. "But what if we're like them, and we just don't know it yet? "

"What if we're like Victor and Ruby?" he countered, with a gentle press of his lips to her forehead. "I won't lie to you, darling: there's no guarantee, no way to predict the future and assure you that we'll be together until we're old and grey. But I can promise you that I love you, Swan, and I have no desire to go anywhere."

"I love you too," she assured him. "I just...how do you know? How do you know when or if a future together is the right decision?"

"Short of True Love's kiss? In my own experience, two people who love each other will do anything, overcome anything, to be together. No matter what difficulties come their way, they manage to work through them and grow the stronger for it."

A memory sparked in Emma's mind at Killian's words.

_"Oh, you foolish girl," Cora said with a smirk, "Don't you know? Love is weakness."_

_"No," Emma said with surprise, standing a little taller after Cora failed to rip out her heart, "It's strength."_

"Then I hope," she said, with a small smile as she slipped her hand into Killian's, "that we grow stronger together every day."

"So do I, love." He leaned in for a lingering kiss that left her lips burning with desire and a flame of renewed optimism flickering in her heart. "Now let's go home."


	7. Deleted Scene #6: Unexpected Loss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Trigger warning for infant loss or miscarriage if you are sensitive to that.

 

Emma Swan awoke with the grey pre-dawn light, feeling like shit that had been warmed over and run through the blender. The tell-tale squeezing sensation in her lower belly caused her to bury her face in the pillow with a moan. It was going to be one of _those_ cycles. Forcing herself out of bed, she shuffled into the bathroom and pulled out the bottle of ibuprofen, swallowing three of them sans water. She placed the bottle back in the medicine cabinet and grabbed the appropriate supplies from the cabinet below the sink. Emma slowly cleaned herself up and changed. Afterward, she reluctantly decided to go make breakfast since the horrendous pain she was in guaranteed she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep for a while anyway.

Exiting the bathroom quietly, she shambled through the bedroom, trying to be as quiet as possible. Her efforts were in vain, for just as she reached the doorway, she heard Killian’s sleepy voice from behind her.

“Swan, what’s wrong?” he called from the bed. “Why are you up so early?”

Surprised, Emma stubbed her toe and swore loudly. “I’m fine,” she reassured him a moment later, feeling anything but, between her throbbing toe and the onset of her menstrual cycle. She leaned against the doorframe. “It’s just cramps. I’ll be fine once the pain reliever kicks in and I eat something.”

He sat up in the bed, his dark hair charmingly askew. If she didn’t feel like someone was twisting knives into her abdomen at an excruciating, sadistically slow pace, she might have done something about that, Emma reflected, rubbing her shoulder. As it was, she just wanted the sweet oblivion of a nap, but that wasn’t going to happen until the ibuprofen kicked in.

“I’ll get the hot water bottle,” he said, sliding out of bed.

“Killian,” Emma said wearily, “really, I’m fine. I just need to eat, have some coffee, and lie down for a while.”

“Mom?” Henry said in a bleary, sleep-thickened voice as he walked up behind her, “what’s going on? I heard yelling.”

“Nothing’s going on,” she insisted, kneading her aching shoulder again. “I’m fine. I just stubbed my toe, that’s all. Go back to bed.”

“You’re not fine,” Killian argued, hovering behind her as she slowly made her way out to the kitchen. “You’re in pain.”

“Yeah, so? This happens every month; it’s no big deal. Can you all just let me cook my eggs in peace? Sheesh.”

Killian swooped into the kitchen ahead of her. “At least let me cook for you, love. You should be off of your feet, resting.”

“I’m not made of glass, you know,” she argued, irritated as she rolled her shoulder to relieve the nerve she’d pinched in her sleep.

 “Be that as it may,” Killian began, “I think I should be the one to cook, love.”

“Fine,” she sighed, lacking the energy to press the issue. “Just…try not to burn the kitchen down.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, love.”

“Mom,” Henry said in a worried voice, “why do you keep rubbing your shoulder like that?”

“Henry?” Emma said, blinking in confusion. How long had he been standing there in the doorway? “What are you doing up?”

“Killian,” her son said quietly, “I think we better get her to the hospital.”

“Aye,” he agreed, “call the hospital. I’ll get our coats.”

“Already on it,” Henry said, pressing his cell phone to one ear. “Hi, this is Henry Mills…” Emma heard him say.

“Hospital?” she echoed. “I don’t need—” The room spun as she took a step toward her son. Her vision bloomed shades of grey. Emma reached for the kitchen counter in vain, vaguely registering the shouts of concern and the scent of leather and rum before the whole world turned black and silent.

* * *

She climbed back to consciousness gradually, following the sound of Killian’s anguished voice. The smell of disinfectant and the hum of machines told her that she wasn’t at home, and Emma wondered what disaster in town had prompted hospital care this time. She opened her eyes, squinting in response to the bright fluorescent lights overhead. She shifted her gaze over to Killian once her vision cleared, and she watched him quietly. His head was bowed as he slumped in a hard plastic chair, his hair more rumpled than purposeful intent could account for. He was clearly upset about something, murmuring half-incoherent phrases under his breath that Emma was still too disoriented to understand.

Instinctively, she reached for him, trying to form words that would reassure him, but her mouth was too dry and full of grit to do more than manage a grotesque grunt. His head jerked up, and his eyes widened. “You’re awake.” The note of relief in his voice told her all she needed to know about how worried had been.

He reached for the water bottle on the metal tray next to her bed and held the straw up to her lips, sensing what she needed, as he usually did. She sipped the water with zest while Killian kept a watchful eye on her. When she’d quenched her thirst at last, she pulled back a little, and Killian returned the water bottle to her tray.

“Henry’s in the waiting area,” he informed her, “with your parents. I should inform them that you’re awake.”

He started to rise from his chair, but Emma reached out and awkwardly laid her hand on his arm. “No,” she sighed, “not yet. I need to know what happened.”

He frowned. “You don’t remember?”

“A lot of it is a blur,” she admitted. “When I was waking up, I thought I’d been injured during one of our villain-flavor-of-the-month confrontations, but I think I remember feeling crappy because of my cycle, now. I was in a lot of pain.”

“Aye, you were pretty out of it right before you passed out. Didn’t even remember Henry being up.” His expression changed, becoming almost emotionless. “Emma, the reason you were in so much pain wasn’t  due to your woman’s time.”

Woman’s time? She would have smiled at the archaic term if his manner hadn’t been so somber.

“You were pregnant, love,” he whispered in a voice so soft that it was nearly inaudible. Emma stared at him, uncomprehending, as he went on, “but it attached in the wrong place and couldn’t grow properly where it was at. The doctor says it ruptured and that caused some internal bleeding. That’s why your shoulder hurt so much.” He scratched the arm on which he usually wore his brace while he was in public. “Henry figured out what was going on. You’ve him to thank for saving your life. The doctors said you could’ve died if he…if he hadn’t…”

“It isn’t your fault. Don’t blame yourself,” Emma croaked with concern, knowing exactly how his mind worked. “You couldn’t have known. _I_ didn’t even realize, and I should have been able to put it all together.” She furrowed her brow. “But how did Henry know?”

“I overheard him talking to David about it. I gather that Mary-Margaret overshared from those woman’s books—”

“You mean the pregnancy and childbirth ones?” Emma clarified with a poor attempt at a smirk. The heaviness in her heart didn’t enable her facial muscles to cooperate with her attempt to tease him. Killian nodded, and she exhaled slowly. “Well, I guess in this instance, it’s a good thing that she did.”

“Yes,” he agreed, although he looked little comforted by that fact. “Are you hungry?” he asked suddenly. “Do you need anything?”

“No,” she said, releasing his hand as she settled back against the pillows. “I’m just tired.”

“Get some rest, then,” he said, reaching over to pull the thin, knobby hospital blanket up to her shoulders. “I’ll be here when you wake up again.”

Emma tried to smile at his promise, but she felt her chin wobble dangerously, and she shut her eyes quickly. The news that she’d been pregnant had shocked her. She _wanted_ children with Killian, but they certainly hadn’t been trying for them yet. And still, the news about her loss had left her confused and feeling as though she’d been robbed of something she hadn’t even known she wanted to keep so badly until it was already gone. Sleep would be her friend, her shield from the hurt that she sensed hadn’t even manifested itself in full force yet. But it would. She knew it with as much certainty as she knew that when it did, she and Killian would somehow weather the storm of emotion that loss brought.

 _In my own experience, two people who love each other will do anything, overcome anything, to be together. No matter what difficulties come their way,_ Killian’s words echoed in her head, _they manage to work through them and grow the stronger for it._

She clung to those words, letting them become her lifeline as she fell asleep once more, blissfully ignorant of just how harshly her relationship with Killian would be tested in the weeks to come.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Yeah, so…lots more pain in the next chapter. I wanted to do all of this as one big, long chapter, but as I started to write this, it made more sense to split it up to deal with it appropriately, so bear with me. I think there are about two more chapters left now.


	8. Deleted Scene #7: Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million thanks go out to my beta reader, Raams, for her input on this angst-fest chapter! I’ve been building toward it for a while, so brace yourself and hang on tight!

Emma watched Killian glide across the dance floor with the bride-to-be, feeling wistful and a little envious. There was nothing between them; she knew better than that. The source of her jealousy lay elsewhere. Her eye shifted over to Victor, who stood at the edge of the dance floor, laughing jovially with Jefferson and David. This was a happy occasion, and she couldn’t begrudge Ruby and Victor their joy, but it was hard not to feel jealous of them when she and Killian were struggling in their own relationship.

Nothing had been said, but Emma could sense the wrongness that permeated their relationship. She’d thought they could endure anything, but the loss of a child, however unplanned to begin with, had just been too much. Killian had held her, let her scream and cry, and said all the right things when she had needed to hear them. He’d kept company with her, lending his quiet presence when she hadn’t wanted to talk or be touched. He had brought her food and drink with meticulous care, urging her to keep up her strength as she recovered…and Emma had complied, though it all tasted as sawdust to her. She knew she needed energy to heal properly and return to work and take care of Henry. Henry, who watched their every interaction with silent, knowing eyes.

And still did.

“Emma?”

She started at the sound of her mother’s quiet, gentle voice. “I’m sorry, I kind of spaced out and I didn’t hear you approach,” she apologized. “Sit down,” she urged. “You shouldn’t be standing so much.”

Her mother gave her a look that was both grateful and irritated. “It feels like all I do is sit these days,” she sighed, settling her heavily pregnant self into a chair next to Emma. “I don’t remember my back hurting this much with you.”

“Considering the fact that you were completely preoccupied with Regina knocking down your door to kill me, I’m not surprised.”

“That’s true,” her mother admitted. “I suppose that does color one’s memories a bit.” She placed a protective hand on her belly. “I could have carried you forever, knowing what was to come.” Her expression shifted to one of guilt. “I just want him out.”

“That’s entirely normal,” Emma pointed out. “It’s nothing to feel bad about. The circumstances are different.”

“You’re right,” Snow conceded. “And I am grateful to have a normal, healthy pregnancy with no one trying to harm my child, but...” She gazed at Emma uncertainly. "It's hard to let go of the guilt sometimes."

“Mom, we’ve been over this,” Emma replied with tired gentleness, “it’s no one’s fault I lost the baby. I don’t resent you _or_ my brother. I’m glad he’s healthy and that no one is trying to murder him.” She meant every word of it. Her parents had suffered enough, spending nearly thirty years under a curse and missing Emma’s childhood. If anyone deserved a happy ending, it was them, and she was glad they seemed to be getting one. She wouldn’t begrudge them that for the world.

“I know,” Snow said quietly, “but I was talking about you and Killian.”

“What?” She blinked, feeling more than a little ambushed by the change of subject. “We’re fine,” she said quickly. This was not something she wanted to talk about with anyone. Talking about the dying relationship made it concrete, inevitable. Emma wanted to hold onto hope (or maybe it was denial) as long as she could.

“You know, just because I missed almost thirty years of your life, it doesn’t mean I can’t tell when you’re lying.”

Damn. Emma leaned back in her chair. How _did_ her mother always know? For the first time, she wondered if her lie-detecting abilities came from her mother’s side. Emma had always assumed it was solely due to her magic, but perhaps it was an inherited trait that had simply been amplified by her powers.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

“Never mind that,” her mother said, “I think you should go dance with Killian. Someone has to make the first move, and holding each other in close proximity, letting your bodies remind each other of the intimacy you’ve shared—”

“Mo-om!” she hissed, feeling herself flush in embarrassment.

“—can’t hurt the situation either,” her mother finished, utterly unperturbed. “You two need to reconnect with each other and remember there’s a happy ending worth fighting for, instead of letting silence and sorrow consume the both of you like this.”

Emma wished she were as confident as Mary-Margaret that the relationship was so easily salvageable. True, she and Killian hadn’t been physically intimate for weeks. At first, it was simply that she had been cautioned by the doctor to let her body recover from the loss. That had been easy enough, even a relief not to be intimate for a while. But as her body healed and she focused less on just getting through the day, it was hard not to notice the distance that had sprouted between them, despite all of Killian’s care or the time they still spent together. She might curl into his willing arms every night, but Emma could feel that while his body was still present, his spirit was not. He’d withdrawn from her, and no matter how she tried to reach him, she couldn’t get him back. The little smiles and kisses of assurance he gave her whenever she tried breaching the distance between them only made her feel worse, and eventually she stopped bringing it up altogether. It was as good as over, and they both knew it, but neither of them seemed ready to let it go.

“It’s not that easy,” she finally said.

“Emma Louise Charming!” her mother said sharply.

“Wait—my middle name was Louise?”

“Don’t you dare change the subject,” her mother huffed. “You get over there and dance with your boyfriend, do you hear me? That poor boy is over there suffering, no matter how much he smiles and jokes with your father. You will go over there and show him how much he still means to you, or you will regret it for the rest of your life!”

“Okay, okay, jeez.” Emma stood up. “Just…calm down, all right?” Since when had her mother become such a cheerleader for Killian anyway? _Must’ve been all that time he spent at their apartment learning to cook_ , she told herself, edging her way through the crush of people. Deep down, however, she knew that her mother’s change of heart was due to how happy Killian made Emma; could they recapture that sort of happiness, she wondered… What if it wasn’t possible?

A knot formed in the pit of her stomach as she neared Killian. What if he continued to shut her out? Emma didn’t want to cause a scene at Ruby and Victor’s rehearsal dinner (what kind of maid of honor and best man would that make them?), but she didn’t know if she could hold in the hurt any longer if Killian didn’t hold her in earnest tonight.

“Killian?” Emma was glad for the loud music that concealed the shakiness of her words. He turned at her touch. Bright blue eyes focused on her with wary curiosity, and Emma almost couldn’t get the next words out. She was drowning in their stormy depths, her stomach twisting with fear and uncertainty. “Dance with me?” she managed after several tense, wordless moments.

He nodded, reaching for her hand, and led her onto the dance floor. He drew her in close, and for a fleeting moment as the warmth of their bodies melded, Emma grasped hope with both hands…and his name was Killian Jones. Then she felt the hated, familiar distance seeped in, and Emma found herself alone again. _I’m actually losing him_ , she thought. How had it come to this? How could the man who had once sworn to win her heart just erect this invisible wall between them and act like nothing was happening?

“Killian.” Her voice broke as she said it. She peered up at him, desperate to understand.

He gazed down at her. Surprise flared in his eyes, mingled with guilt and pain. Emma felt, rather than heard, him exhale. “Emma,” he said, averting his eyes, “maybe it’s best if—”

She surged up on the tips of her toes, covering his mouth with hers, dreading how he might finish that sentence. Emma poured everything she had into the kiss. If this was goodbye, she thought feverishly, she’d make it a hell of a goodbye to remember. Killian responded with the same desperation, and the reception hall dissolved around them as they were consumed by embers that were fighting with all their might to set their love ablaze again.

And then, from one moment to the next, Emma felt Killian return to her, body and soul, and a wildfire erupted between them.

“Whew! Go get a room you two!”

They broke apart, gasping for breath, and Emma was vaguely cognizant of Ruby and Victor waltzing by them with enormous knowing grins on their faces.

“Welcome back,” she whispered, unable to tear her eyes away from his.

“I’m sorry,” he choked, “I’ve been a fool—”

“Shh,” she insisted, “later. Ruby had the night idea.”

It didn’t take them long to find an out of the way coat closet. Any other couple might have held out for someplace roomier and less stuffy, but it might as well have been a room at the Hilton for all either of them cared. Neither of them bothered about fully shedding their clothing--they simply adjusted their clothes enough to allow access for lips and hands and tongue, and before she knew it, Emma was floating away on waves of pleasure so intense that she almost didn’t hear the sound of a foil packet being opened.

“Killian?” she  said muzzily. _Why does he have a condom?_ she wondered. They hadn’t used condoms since they first started sleeping together. And after they’d both received clean bills of health, Emma hadn’t seen the point. She was on the pill, and they were both committed to the relationship. On the small chance that her birth control failed and a baby came a little earlier than planned, they’d make it work, she’d figured. Was he using condoms again because he worried about making another baby unexpectedly? Did he blame himself for their conceiving before they had discussed?

Their bodies joined then, and Emma was struck with such an overwhelming feeling of rightness and homecoming that the train of thought dissipated like sea foam before she could inquire further. She gave herself over to their lovemaking, fueled by the pain and loneliness of the past weeks, and poured into it every ounce of emotion she’d been holding back. Never again, she promised herself, would she let such distance and pain fester between them. Killian would know, must always know, how much she loved him— _needed_ him.

They hit orgasm together, clinging to each other as they coasted on the long, hard waves of pleasure. They were not quiet about it. Anyone remotely in their vicinity would hear them, but it could hardly be helped. Quiet was simply not an option, their clumsy attempt at stealth and privacy aside. The restraints on their feelings were broken, and they would not be bound again.

“I love you,” she murmured, nuzzling her nose into the crook of his neck after their breathing returned to a normal pace. “I know this doesn’t fix anything, but I just…I love you.”

“I know,” he answered quietly, stroking the arch of her back through the fabric of her dress. “I love you, too.”

“And—later?” It was all she could manage. She wanted to make it work, to mend whatever seemed so very broken between them, but she couldn’t seem to get the words out. She stroked his cheek, knowing he couldn’t see her in the dark closets, but hoping he could somehow read her just the same.

“We’ll sort things out, Swan. After the wedding.”

It wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but she understood the necessity. Ruby and Victor’s wedding was tomorrow, and this was hardly the time and place for a heart-to-heart. They had other obligations and duties tonight.

“We should get back. We’ve been gone long enough.”

She couldn’t disagree with him, no matter how much she might wish to linger in the moment. There were toasts to give, last-minute details to attend to before the bride’s party went its separate way from the groom’s…and of course, the requisite bachelor and bachelorette parties.

They re-buttoned clothes and smoothed hair as best as they could, but anyone with eyes would know what they had been doing in their absence. Especially after Ruby’s not-so-subtle suggestion to do so.

“Henry’s gone all weekend?” Killian clarified as they walked back to the rehearsal dinner party.

“Yeah. Neal wanted some father-son bonding time. They won’t be back from New York until Sunday evening.”

“I’ll make dinner,” he said simply. But they both knew what he meant was, _We’ll talk_.

Emma both anticipated and dreaded it.

* * *

Dinner was shrimp linguine. It was one of Snow’s specialties, and one that Emma had grown quite fond of when they’d lived together, so she considered it a good sign when Killian chose to make it for their supper. Talk was light while he prepared it—How lovely Ruby had looked in her wedding dress. How stunned Victor had been when he saw her in it. Neither of them mentioned noticing the other’s longing gazes during Ruby and Victor’s vows. It seemed a weighty thing to speak of before they resolved their problems, but the awareness smoldered between them nonetheless, injecting an undercurrent of much needed hope to the conversation that was about to take place.

For all Killian’s efforts, neither of them did much more than pick at their food. They put away the leftovers in the fridge and settled on the couch together. “Well?” Emma said awkwardly, “how do you want to begin this thing?”

“With an apology,” Killian said softly. His blue eyes radiated sorrow, guilt, and sincerity. “I’m so sorry, Emma. I treated you abominably.”

“That’s not true,” she protested. “You took very good care of me.”

“Aye,” he agreed, “perhaps that’s how it seemed, but I let myself get stuck going through the motions. It was…too easy to default to that.”

“People cope in different ways,” she pointed out. “You shouldn’t feel bad about that.”

“Perhaps,” he conceded, “but I wasn’t there for you as I should have been.”

“Neither was I,” she admitted. “I was so wrapped up in my own pain and recovery that I didn’t think of how you were coping, or what you might be feeling. Until you pulled out that condom, I had no idea how much you were hurting, and that’s my fault.”

He sighed, shifting restlessly. “Emma—”

“Let me finish, please.” He lapsed into silence, watching her with a troubled expression, and she continued, “I realize all of this may have set us back, but I think we can get better. Fix things,” she clarified. “So maybe we just go back to using condoms in addition to my birth control, and we re-examine this baby stuff later, like we planned on doing anyway,” she finished, watching him expectantly. “Do you…What do you think?”

“Emma,” he said almost inaudibly, “I don’t want to re-examine things later.”

“What?” She blinked. “But I thought… I don’t understand. I thought we both wanted a baby at some point.”

“I thought I did,” he said tonelessly, studying the carpet, “but after everything that’s happened…” He trailed off, his expression weary and distressed. “I’m sorry, Emma. I really am.”

“Killian,” she struggled, trying to find the right words to convey everything that was in her head and heart, “this isn’t…” She swallowed and tried again, “I had an ectopic pregnancy this time, but that doesn’t mean I’ll have one next time.”

“It doesn’t mean you won’t, either. I remember what the doctor said; there’s an increased risk in future pregnancies.”

“Yes,” she said, “but since it’s my only ectopic pregnancy, I still have a good chance of having a healthy pregnancy later, if you want to—”

“I don’t,” he interrupted succinctly.

She processed that for a moment. “Okay,” she said evenly, “but I do.”

Something flickered in his gaze, raw and unguarded, and for a moment Emma thought he might open up and share the feelings that had prompted this change of heart. Then an invisible door slammed shut, and his expression became hard and determined. It reminded Emma of the way Killian used to be, back when she’d first met him—wounded and shut off to everything except anger and the need for revenge at all costs. But there was no one at whom he could direct his wrath this time; no one whom he could make pay for this tragedy. Except himself.

“If it’s what you want,” he said softly, “then perhaps…”

“Don’t you dare even finish that sentence, Killian Jones. You don’t get to play noble and break up with me over something like this. I get a say in this relationship, too!”

“I will not keep you from your happy ending,” he grated, a fire sparking in the depths of his blue eyes.

“ _You’re_ my happy ending!” she shouted, leaping off the couch to pace the length of the living room. “Don’t you get that by now? With or _without_   a baby!”

“I will not let you risk your life.” He enunciated each word with a sharp precision that made them sound like separate statements. There was an unyielding hardness in his eyes and a stubborn set to his jaw that  stoked a fury in Emma.

“You don’t get to decide that for me! It’s _my_ body, _my_ life, and _I_ get to decide what to do with it!”

“No, Emma,” he said with a cold anger that was foil to her own white-hot fury, “if we are in a relationship, then I get a say about the risks I’m willing to undertake as well, and your life is not one of them.”

Emma clenched her fists and ground her teeth together before she said something unforgivable. She knew his instinct to protect was strong, particularly in light of the different cultural norms and mores he retained as a three hundred year old sailor-turned-pirate, but this was bordering on positively stifling. Did he really just expect he could wrap her in cotton wool and take away her agency, and she would just be okay with it? It was completely unlike him, and Emma struggled not to lash out rather than attempt to reach an understanding.

“You’re right,” she managed after a long inner struggle. “In a relationship, both people should get a say about family planning choices.”

“And what do they do when they want different things?” he asked, in a tone indicating that he already knew the answer.

“They work things out, of course,” she said with a conviction and confidence that she did not feel. It was a simplistic answer to a complicated problem, and they both knew it. “They find a way to compromise.”

“And how do they compromise when one wants and baby and the other doesn’t?”

The silence stretched between them, taut like a rubber band. “I’m not giving up,” she whispered fiercely. “Not today. Not when we’ve come this far. We’re gonna sit here and figure this thing out. No running away.”

“There’s nothing to figure out, love,” he said with a tired hunch to his shoulders. “We want different things.”

“Killian, I already told you, with or without a baby—”

A throat cleared, and Emma followed the sound to its source. An embarrassed-looking Neal stood in the doorway of their living room, flanked by Henry. Her son stared at them with a perturbed expression.

“Hi, Henry,” she said nervously, caught off balance by their unexpected arrival. “Neal,” she acknowledged with a curt nod. “I didn’t hear you come in. What are you two doing here? I thought you weren’t supposed to be back until Sunday.”

“Henry forgot to bring some of his homework,” Neal mumbled, not making eye contact. “I just drove him by to pick it up. We’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”

“No need,” Killian said, standing up. “I think perhaps it’s best if I get some air for a while.”

Emma’s heart clenched. She knew “get some air” was code for “hole up on the Jolly Roger for a while and go sailing.” She followed him to the door, while Neal tactfully followed Henry to his room to find the missing homework. “What do you mean you need “air”?” she demanded. “How long will you be gone? You are coming back, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know, exactly,” he answered, slipping into his familiar coat. “We’ll talk in a few days, see where we stand.” But they both knew how unlikely it was that anything might change, that either of them would budge in their point of view in such a short time. If ever.

He kissed her cheek, and Emma watched him go, feeling frustrated that she couldn’t get through to him. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. Hell, it wasn’t supposed to end at all. Not when you were True Love.

The notion that they might not be True Loves was one which she steadfastly refused to examine—their apparent lack of True Love’s kiss notwithstanding.

“Mom?”

She turned toward the sound of her son’s voice.

“Are you guys breaking up, too?”

Emma pasted a smile on her face. “What?” she said with a false confidence. “No, of course not. He just needs a little time to sort things out.”

Henry looked unconvinced.

“Why don’t you go out to the car while I talk to your mom for a few minutes?” Neal urged him. Henry went, casting a doleful look at Emma on the way out as he hitched his backpack over one shoulder.

“Look,” Neal said cautiously, “I know it’s not my place, and my track record with relationships isn’t the best, but…hear me out, okay?” When Emma didn’t offer protest, still being too dazed that Killian had retreated, Neal went on, “I know I screwed up with you, Emma, okay? And I’m sorry for that, I really am. It was a selfish, cowardly thing to do. I can’t go back and change that, but maybe…maybe I can make it up to you.”

“Neal,” she sighed with impatience,  “I don’t have time for this—”

“Just listen,” he insisted. “It’s not what you think.”

“Then by all means, enlighten me.”

If Neal heard the sarcasm in her tone, he ignored it. “The thing is, I think I’ve finally figured out the common denominator in all of my relationship disasters. It’s me. I’ve let fear cloud my judgment too much for too long, and I’ve done such stupid things.”

Emma didn’t disagree with that assessment, but she let him continue uninterrupted.

“I’ve been running for years from my father and the things he’s done. I let myself believe it was because of his magic, so I learned to hate magic. Regina and I fought about that a lot, you know. I wanted her to give up all of her magic, not just the dark stuff. So I ended up screwing up that relationship, too.” His expression was so hurt and lost as he said this, that Emma began to feel a little sorry for him.

“But it’s not the magic I’ve been running from,” he continued softly, “it’s the parts of myself that are just like my dad—his darkness, his selfishness, his cowardice. And I let it ruin my life, blaming magic for all of my problems. But magic never caused any of that— _I_ did.”

“Where exactly is this going?” she wondered, feeling a lot less exasperated with him that perhaps she normally would have.

“What I’m trying to say,” he sighed, “is that sometimes, to protect ourselves from things we fear, we lie to ourselves and run away. No matter how illogical and unproductive it is.”

“I didn’t run away,” she pointed out.

“I know,” he said with a sad smile. “I meant Killian.”

“What?” she blinked.

“Emma, didn’t you ever wonder why I was an only child?”

“Uh, well…that’s not a place my mind would choose to go,” she said tactfully, “but considering your parents, um, didn’t get along…”

“Hey, my mom, she wasn’t perfect. It took me a long time to forgive what she did. And my parents’ marriage? We all know it was anything but perfect. But they tried to make it work for a while, before she met Killian. For my sake.” He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. “See, my mom lost a lot of babies before they had me. And maybe it wasn’t anything to do with her…maybe the problem was with my dad. It could have just been horrible luck, even. Perhaps for Killian and my mom, it was just never an issue, even. I don’t know. But I have to wonder, based on what I heard and how he seemed to be reacting…”

“Maybe they lost a baby together. Milah and him,” Emma realized with a whisper.

He nodded. “It’s just a thought. If it helps.”

“It might,” she said, reaching for her red leather jacket. She tugged it on, pulling her hair free in one quick motion. “It just might.” She tossed him her keys. “Lock up, will you? I’ll come by for the keys later.” She yanked the door open, then hesitated. She peered over her shoulder at her ex. “And Neal? Thanks.”

“Sure,” he smiled in reply, his eyes reflecting sadness and resignation. “I hope it works out between you two.”

 _Me too_ , Emma thought as she set out toward the Jolly Roger, hoping that she wasn’t too late, that he would still be there when she arrived at the marina, _me too_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more deleted scene to go, and then it's on to the next fic in the series...which I'm now sort of realizing I could have just written already while I was doing the deleted scenes on The House Boy, but apparently I was not smart enough to think of it before now! :P


	9. Deleted Scene #8: Re-Forged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Many thanks go out, as always, to my beta reader, Raams, who suggested some changes and additional content to the close of this chapter that really strengthened the ending for this final installment of The House Boy. You are the best!

Emma made it to the docks just before Killian left port. Slamming the door of her Bug shut, Emma hurried down the dock and leaped across the gap between the gangplank and the Jolly Roger, landing on the deck of his ship with a soft thud. Killian watched her in silence, holding with one hand the rope he’d just weighed anchor with. The anguished, knowing expression in his eyes told her that he knew all too well why she was there, but he didn’t try to discourage her from speaking. “Emma,” he greeted her quietly as the ship continued pulling out of port, “I gather you thought of something more you wish to add to our discussion.”

“No,” she said, stepping close to him, “but Neal did.” She peered up at him, studying the harsh set of his jaw, the tightness of his shoulders. He didn’t _want_ to leave her, she realized. Not for a few days, not ever. He simply felt that he had to.  That he _owed_ it to her, to give her the future with children that she envisioned—even if it meant that he wasn’t part of it.

“Neal?” he asked with a puzzled frown.

Emma wrapped her arms around Killian, drawing close against him. He stiffened at first, the beat of his heart increasing its pace within his chest, but after several moments of silence, he gradually relaxed against her. “Now what’s this about, love?” he wondered in a gentle, protective tone. “What’s Neal put into your head now?”

She struggled for several moments, uncertain how to broach the subject. No matter how she proceeded, she knew it would cause him additional pain to speak of it, and yet if what Neal suspected was true, the reality of Milah’s miscarriages had caused him immeasurable pain and suffering already. And refusing to acknowledge them or talk about it had only exacerbated matters.

“Emma,” Killian repeated more firmly, his expression darkening, “what did Neal say to upset you so?”

“He heard us fighting,” she began, “he and Henry both. Enough to know what we were fighting about. And after you left, Neal sent Henry outside and told me something. He said that his mother suffered a lot of miscarriages before she successfully carried him to term. And he seemed to think that maybe, based on your strong reaction… maybe Milah miscarried in her relationship with you, too.”

Killian’s blue eyes darkened to a stormy shade she had never seen before; there was no emotion in their depths, not even the self-loathing she might have expected at her conjecture. She felt the strength leave him, sapped out of his bones as the weight of her words settled over him. For the first time since she had known him, Killian Jones finally seemed exhausted and defeated, feeling the burden of his three centuries of life.

“Why didn’t you say something?” she whispered, holding him steady as he crumpled against her, weeping silent tears of long-denied grief. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She let him grieve for a long while, alternately combing her fingers through the dark locks of his hair and kissing the crown of his head. Killian’s arms tightened around her possessively, even desperately, as if he feared she were made of mist and might disappear beneath his very fingers. “I’m here,” she soothed, stroking the back of his neck, “I love you, Killian, and I’m not going anywhere. We’ll get through this.”

And for the first time since she’d learned of her own miscarriage in the hospital, Emma truly believed it. Felt it in every fiber of her being. What did it matter that they had never shared True Love’s kiss? Killian loved her, and she him. They belonged together; no matter what hurts they had to endure, or what obstacles they must overcome, Emma knew with a certainty that they would always find their way back to each other, just like her parents did.

“Come on,” she murmured, guiding him to his cabin, “let’s get you settled and I’ll steer us into deeper waters.” Later, when the ship was safely adrift in the bay, Emma made him a bracing cup of tea with two shots of rum. Killian consumed it mechanically, with haunted eyes, and Emma waited patiently for him to return from the memories that so preoccupied him.

Curling against each other underneath the covers of Killian’s narrow bed, Emma closed her eyes and let her own thoughts drift, soaking in his scent and his presence in equal measure.

“I blamed myself,” Killian finally broke the silence, shifting against her. “The first time, I simply thought it was bad luck. Milah and I weren’t trying to get pregnant, you see, and it took both of us by surprise. A part of me was relieved that we lost it, because I thought it was just as well. Can you imagine trying to raise a child among the rowdy crew of a pirate ship?”

“Didn’t you ask Neal to live with you and your crew on your ship, once, though?”

“Aye,” he said softly. “But my perspective had changed quite a bit by Neverland...”

“Tell me about it,” she urged gently, burrowing closer to him. “Milah miscarried again, didn’t she? You mentioned ‘the first time’…”

“She did,” he affirmed with a single, almost imperceptible nod. “We hadn’t been trying then, either. Methods of prevention at that time weren’t as reliable as you have now,” he pointed out, “but the second time she miscarried, it was different. Instead of feeling relieved, I felt angry and ashamed. Perhaps we hadn’t been trying, and raising a child might have been challenging, but Milah seemed delighted by the prospect of surprising Bae with a sibling when we went back for him. And seeing her so happy, I gradually warmed to the idea, myself.” His expression darkened again, his hand enclosed her own, his grip firm and desperate. “When she lost it a few short weeks later, we were devastated, and I began to have doubts in the back of my mind. But the second loss drew us closer together, and after a time we decided to actively try for a baby.”

Emma felt her heart grow heavier, knowing what was to come, but she remained silent; Killian needed to verbalize each of his losses in order to begin working through them, and it would be easier for him, she suspected, without unnecessary interruptions. She lent her sympathy in silence instead, kissing his brow and wrapping her arms around him a little closer.

“Milah didn’t lose that baby, though,” he continued, surprising Emma. “We held our breath for just over three months, expecting the worst, but it never happened, and gradually we began making plans…” He paused, swallowing with visible difficulty, as his eyes shone with unshed tears again. “And then I lost Milah.”

It took several moments for the import of his words to sink in. Emma gaped at him. “Killian,” she said slowly, “are you saying Milah was pregnant when Gold murdered her?”

His expression was numb when he answered, his nod almost imperceptible, “She wasn’t showing yet. No one really knew about it except for us--certainly not that bastard crocodile. Even the crew didn’t realize. We wanted to keep it to ourselves for a little while longer, just in case.”

“Oh my God.” Emma expelled a large, shuddering breath, trying to wrap her mind around the additional tragedy to Milah’s death, and to the long line of losses in her pirate’s life--his parents, Liam, Milah, three children with her, and now the loss of their own baby. No wonder he’d reacted as he had to all of it. What person, having faced the loss of so many loved ones, wouldn’t react with anger or start to think that it was somehow their own fault? Of _course_ Killian would want to stop the hurt, if he could, by closing the door to the possibility of children.

 “I’m so, so sorry,” she whispered, knowing the words were incredibly inadequate, as she squeezed his hand. “No wonder you wanted to kill Gold.” At this particular moment, Emma sort of wanted to storm down to his shop and kill him, too. Or at least hurt him very, very badly. But none of that, the more rational side of her realized, would do a damn thing to change the past or ease the weight of pain that Killian had been carrying around for centuries.

“He took away my entire future,” Killian said tonelessly. “My entire existence became about killing him after that. It was the only thing that mattered. I wanted to hurt him the way he hurt me.” Something flickered in his blue eyes, and for a moment Emma felt as if they were back in the Echo Cave when he spoke, “Until I began to see the possibility of a new future. One with you. I knew I didn’t deserve it. Didn’t deserve you. But I wanted a life again, beyond the misery and pain. And I thought I finally had that, until we lost our child, too, and all the thoughts of being punished for the wrongs I’ve done returned…”

“Killian, you are not being punished,” she assured him with all the firmness she could muster. “Sometimes these things just happen. It’s no one’s fault. Don’t punish yourself for things that couldn’t have been prevented.”

He sighed, shifting restlessly beside her. “I want to believe that, love, but I don’t know if I can.”

“I know,” she replied, knowing better than perhaps anyone how hard it was to let down walls specifically built to keep out pain, “but Killian, you can’t keep going on like this and avoiding your feelings.”

“You want me to talk to Archie.”

“Actually, I think we should both go. Together. This loss has affected both of us more than we’ve cared to admit to even ourselves, and I think it would be good to work through those feelings with guidance.”

“Aye,” he finally admitted after short silence. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt.” He paused, eyeing her sidelong. “And…the issue of children?” he asked with hesitation. “What about that?”

“We can talk about that more in our appointments with Archie,” Emma agreed. “Obviously that’s another issue that needs to be addressed and resolved, but I meant what I said, Killian. I want to be with you, with or without more kids. My love— _our_ love—is greater than just the ability to give each other children. But Killian…there are alternatives available to us for growing our family other than my carrying a baby and giving birth, if that’s something you feel comfortable exploring at some point.”

His brow furrowed. “Alternatives?” he echoed. “You mean adoption?”

“That’s one of them,” she nodded, “but I think…after all that’s happened recently, and what I know now about what you and Milah went through together…Well, I mean, it’s not something to decide today. Or even several weeks from now.”

“No, I suppose not,” he answered absently, “but do you really think anyone would let someone like me adopt a child?”

“Of course they would,” she reassured him. “You’re great with Henry, anyone here in Storybrooke can see that, and an agency would, too. Besides,” she said with a wry smile, “if an agency let _Regina_ adopt a kid, I’d say we’re shoe-ins. Just remember to leave the hook and the doubloons at home,” she teased.

“Very funny,” he growled, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. His eyes locked with hers, then, and something delicate and as vulnerable as a newborn babe shone in his eyes. It was hope, Emma realized, reborn and shaped by something else, something indefinable essence that whispered with certainty that nothing could break it ever again. “I love you, Emma.”

Killian initiated the kiss this time, his lips brushing across hers tentatively, even shyly, at first, but then gradually increasing with vigor as Emma returned it with enthusiasm. Her thoughts scattered into incoherence as they took the kiss deeper, holding each other with a ferocious passion. No matter what obstacle might try to come between them, Emma now knew, they would always find their way back to each other.

A fierce warmth, bordering on hot, swept through Emma, pinging every fiber of her body as Killian cupped her face in his hand. She felt it expand, like a living thing, building with psychic pressure until it finally burst out, like the cork of a champagne bottle. Emma felt a surge of exultation as the magic left her, knowing it instinctively as the mark of a True Love’s kiss, and she smiled into her last kisses before she pulled away to catch her breath.

“That was—” she began shakily.

“True Love’s Kiss,” he finished, far more calmly than she felt. A bright wonder shone in his eyes, and a smile curled at the edges of his mouth, but his presence, and her awareness of him, felt different, too—sharper, more heightened—lending itself to a new and different connection between them that felt almost physically tangible.

She laughed lightly as he pressed a feather-light kiss in the groove just behind her ear and eased her onto her back. Killian pulled away, slightly, peering at her questioningly, and she explained, “It just seems, well, almost superfluous to say “I love you” now, after True Love’s Kiss...”

“Aye, love,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes as he leaned over her, “perhaps it is, but I like hearing it anyway.”

Emma smiled at him then, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I love you, Killian Jones,” she said, immersing herself in the blueness of his eyes, “and I always will.”

They lost several hours to love-making after that, breaking only for the barest of sustenance as they celebrated the re-kindling of their relationship. Killian returned the ship to port in the morning, and after a lighthearted breakfast at Granny’s, he accompanied her to Neal’s apartment to pick up Henry—as well as the set of Emma’s keys that she’d tossed at her ex last night, before rushing to catch up with Killian. Henry’s reaction was mildly ecstatic when they greeted him together at the door, and several minutes were spent in excited, disjointed conversation before Emma noticed Neal hovering in the background, leaned against the entrance hall with a smile that was both pleased and sad.

“Congratulations, Emma,” he told her softly, when she pinned him with a questioning gaze, “you found your Tallahassee.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And that's all, she wrote! At least for this installment of the series. There will be at least one more in the series, encompassing Emma and Killian's wedding and honeymoon, with possibly a fourth, depending on how well the plot idea I have for it develops. Thank you so much for your patience and your loyalty in reading this installment to its completion! I really appreciate it!

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I hope everyone liked this sequel to The Yard Boy. I think this set of fics has been very fun to write. So much fun, perhaps, that this story took on a life of its own and ended up almost twice as long as the original. And yet, there were still scenes that I wanted to include but couldn't fit into here. I'd originally intended for the Valentine's bit to be...well, a bit. But the characters did their own thing, and here we are, with a different story altogether than what I meant to write.
> 
> But because I still really want to include some scenes of them adjusting to this whole living together thing, I'm going to write and post a series of "deleted scenes," as they were, of stuff that happened between Valentine's day and the proposal, as separate "chapters" to this fic. I'm not certain how many I'll write yet, but when I get this wrapped up completely, I'll let you know. The sheer length of this fic, plus the tightly interlocking structure of its parts just didn't lend itself to adding anything else to the main text of the story.
> 
> Fun fact: There really was a child pirate, named John King. They used to believe he was just legend, as well as the ship he eventually died on, the Whydah. They found evidence of the wreckage in 1984, as well as part of King's leg, proving the truth of two pirate legends. The Whydah is history's only verifiable pirate vessel to date. I was lucky enough to see an exhibit on the Whydah, with King's remains, a few years ago, and the tale has stuck with me. As such, I couldn't resist weaving it in to my story a bit, since King's existence used to be considered something of a myth itself.


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